'r>         .iii^ 


Hermia  Suydam 


GERTRUDE  FRANKLIN  ATHERTON 

AUTIIoa   OF    "WHAT    DREAMS   MAY   COME" 


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HERMIA  SUYDAM, 


HERMIA    SUYDAM 


GERTRUDE  FRANKLIN  ATHERTON 

AUTHOR    OF    "WHAT    DREAMS    MAY    COME  " 


THE  CURRENT  LITERATURE  PUBLISHING  CO 

NEW    YORK,  SAN    FRANCISCO,  LONDON,  AND    PARIS 


Copyright,  1889. 

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\   n  r 


FROM  HERBERT  SPENCER'S  CHAPTER  ON  ''THE  WILLr 

To  say  that  the  performance  of  the  action  is  the  result  of 
his  free  will  is  to  say  that  he  determines  the  cohesion  of  the 
psychical  states  which  arouse  the  action ;  and  as  these 
psychical  states  constitute  himself  at  the  mo?nent,  this  is  to 
say  that  these  psychical  states  determine  their  own  cohesion, 
which  is  absurd.  These  cohesions  have  been  aetennined  by 
experiences— the  greater  part  of  them,  constituting  what  we 
call  his  Jiatural  character,  by  the  experiences  of  antecedent 
organisms,  and  the  rest  by  his  own  experiences.  The 
changes  which  at  each  mornent  take  place  in  his  conscious- 
ness are  produced  by  this  infinitude  of  previous  experiences 
registered  in  his  nervous  structure,  co-operating  tvith  the 
immediate  impressions  on  his  senses ;  the  effects  of  these 
combined  factors  being  in  every  sense  qualified  by  the 
psychical  state,  general  or  local,  of  his  organism. 


HERMIA    SUYDAM 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  SECOND  AVENUE    HOUSEHOLD. 

When  Crosby  Suydam  died  and  left  exactly 
enough  money  to  bury  himself,  his  widow  returned 
to  New  York,  and,  taking  her  two  little  girls  by  the 
hand,  presented  herself  at  the  old  Suydam  mansion 
on  Second  Avenue.  ''  You  must  either  take  care  of 
us  or  see  us  go  to  the  poor-house,"  she  said  to  her 
brother-in-law  ;  "  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  work, 
and  my  relatives  are  as  poor  as  myself."  And 
she  sank  into  one  of  the  library  chairs  with  that 
air  of  indifference  and  physical  weakness  which 
makes  a  man  more  helpless  than  defiance  or  curse. 
Did  John  Suydam  still,  in  his  withered,  yellow 
frame,  carry  a  shrunken  remnant  of  that  pliable 
organ  called  the  heart  ?  His  brother's  w  idow  did 
not  add  this  problem  to  the  others  of  her  vexed 
existence — she  had  done  with  problems  forever — 
but  in  his  little  world  the  legend  was  whispered 
that,    many  years  before,  the  last  fragment   had 


8  Her  mi  a  Suydam. 

dried  and  crumbled  to  dust.  It  must  be  either 
dust  or  a  fossil ;  and,  if  the  latter,  it  would  surely 
play  a  merry  clack  and  rattle  with  its  housing 
skeleton  every  time  the  old  man  drew  a  long 
breath  or  hobbled  across  the  room. 

John  Suydam's  age  was  another  problem.  His 
neighbors  said  that  the  little  yellow  old  man  was 
their  parents'  contemporary.  That  he  had  ever 
had  any  youth  those  parents  denied.  He  was 
many  years  older  than  Crosby  Suydam,  however, 
and  the  world  had  blamed  him  sharply  for  his 
treatment  of  his  younger  brother.  Crosby  had 
been  wealthy  when  he  married,  and  a  great  favor- 
ite. Some  resentment  was  felt  when  he  chose  a 
New  England  girl  for  his  wife  ;  but  Mrs.  Suydam 
entertained  so  charmingly  that  society  quickly  for- 
gave both,  and  filled  their  drawing-rooms  when- 
ever bidden.  For  ten  years  these  two  young 
people  were  illuminating  stars  in  the  firmament 
of  New  York  society ;  then  they  swept  down 
the  horizon  like  meteors  on  a  summer's  night. 
Crosby  had  withdrawn  his  fortune  from  the 
securities  in  which  his  father  had  left  it,  and 
blown  bubbles  up  and  down  Wall  street  for  a  year 
or  so.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  possessed 
neither  bubbles  nor  suds.  He  drifted  to  Brooklyn, 
and  for  ten  years  more,  struggled  along,  at  one 
clerkship  or  another,  his  brother  never  lending  him 
a  dollar,  nor  offering  him  the  shelter  of  his  roof. 
He  dropped  out  of  life  as  he  had  dropped  out 


He7'mia  Siiydam.  o 

of    the    world,    which    had    long   since    forgotten 
both  him  and  his  unhappy  young  wife. 

But,  if  John  Suydam  had  no  heart,  he  had  pride. 
New  York,  in  his  opinion,  should  have  been 
called  Suydam,  and  the  thought  of  one  of  his 
name  in  the  poor-house  aroused  a  passion  stronger 
than  avarice.  He  told  his  sister-in-law  that  she 
could  stay,  that  he  would  give  her  food  and  shel- 
ter and  a  hundred  dollars  a  year  on  condition 
that  she  would  take  care  of  her  own  rooms — he 
could  not  afford  another  servant. 

It  was  a  strange  household.     Mrs.  Suydam  sat 
up  in  her  room  all  day  with  her  two  little  girls  and  in 
her  passive,  mechanical  way,  heard  their  lessons,  or 
helped  them  make  their  clothes.     Her  brother  she 
met  only  at  the  table.     At  those  awful  meals  not 
a  word  was  ever  spoken.     John,  who   had  atro- 
cious table   manners,  crunched   his  food  audibly 
for  a  half-hour  at  breakfast,  an  hour  and  a  half  at 
dinner,   and   an   hour    at  supper.     Mrs.    Suydam, 
whose  one   desire  was  to  die,  accepted  the  hint  he 
unconsciously  gave,  and  swallowed  her  food  whole; 
if  longevity  and   mastication  were  correlatives,  it 
was  a  poor  rule  that  would    not  work  both  v/ays. 
She  died  before  the  year  was  out  ;  not  of  indiges- 
tion, however,  but  of  relaxation   from  the  terrible 
strain  to  which  her  dehcate  constitution  had  been 
subjected  during  the  ten  preceding  years. 

John  Suydam  had  her  put  in  the  family  vault, 
under  St.  Mark's,  as  economically  as  possible,  then 


lo  Hernn'a  Suydam. 

groaned  in  spirit  as  he  thought  of  the  two  children 
left  on  his  hands.  He  soon  discovered  that  they 
would  give  him  no  trouble.  Bessie  Suydam  was  a 
motherly  child,  and  adversity  had  filled  many  of 
the  little  store-rooms  in  her  brain  with  a  fund  of 
common-sense,  which,  in  happier  conditions,  might 
have  been  carried  by.  She  was  sixteen  and  Her- 
mia  was  nine.  The  day  after  the  funeral  she 
slipped  into  her  mother's  place,  and  her  little 
sister  never  missed  the  maternal  care.  Their 
life  was  monotonous.  Bessie  did  not  know  her 
neighbors,  although  her  grandparents  and  theirs 
had  played  together.  When  Mrs.  Suydam  had 
come  to  live  under  her  brother-in-law's  roof,  the 
neighborhood  had  put  its  dislike  of  John  Suydam 
aside  and  called  at  once.  It  neither  saw  Mrs. 
Suydam,  nor  did  its  kindness  ever  receive  the 
slightest  notice  ;  and,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  it  for- 
got both  her  and  her  children. 

A  few  months  after  Mrs.  Suydam's  death  another 
slight  change  occurred  in  the  household.  A  fourth 
mendicant  relative  appeared  and  asked  for  help. 
He  was  a  distant  cousin,  and  had  been  a  school- 
mate of  John  Suydam  in  that  boyhood  in  which 
no  one  but  himself  believed.  He  had  spent  his- 
life  in  the  thankless  treadmill  of  the  teacher.  Sev- 
eral years  before,  he  had  been  pushed  out  of  the 
mill  by  younger  propounders  of  more  fashionable 
methods,  and  after  his  savings  were  spent  he  had 
no  resource  but  John  Suydam. 


Hermia  Suydam.  ii 

Suydam  treated  him  better  than  might  have 
been  expected.  These  two  girls,  whom  a  malig- 
nant fate  had  flung  upon  his  protection,  must  be 
educated,  and  he  was  unwilling  to  incur  the  ex- 
penses of  a  school  or  governess.  The  advent  of 
William  Crosby  laid  the  question  at  rest.  John 
told  him  that  he  would  give  him  a  home  and  a 
hundred  dollars  a  year  if  he  would  educate  his 
nieces,  and  the  old  man  was  glad  to  consent. 

.The  professor  taught  the  girls  conscientiously, 
and  threw  some  sunshine  into  their  lives.  He 
took  them  for  a  long  walk  every  day,  and  showed 
them  all  the  libraries,  the  picture  galleries,  and  the 
shops.  In  spite  of  the  meanness  of  her  garb,  Bessie 
attracted  some  attention  during  these  ramblings  ; 
she  had  the  pretty  American  face,  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  morning  was  in  it.  Poor  Hermia,  who 
obediently  trotted  behind,  passed  unnoticed.  Na- 
ture, who  had  endowed  the  rest  of  her  family  so 
kindly — her  father  and  mother  had  been  two  of 
the  old  dame's  proudest  works — had  passed  her  by 
in  a  fit  of  abstraction.  Under  her  high,  melan- 
choly forehead  and  black,  heavy  brows,  stared 
solemnly  a  pair  of  unmistakably  green  eyes— even 
that  hypocrite  Politeness  would  never  name  them 
gray.  Her  dull,  uninteresting  hair  was  brushed 
severely  back  and  braided  in  a  tight  pig-tail ;  and 
her  sallow  cheeks  were  in  painful  contrast  to  the 
pink  and  white  of  her  sister's  delicate  skin.  Her 
eyelashes  were  thick  and  black,  and  she  had  the 


12  Herviia  Suydam. 

small,  admirably  shaped  hands  and  feet  of  the 
Suydams,  but  the  general  effect  was  unattractive. 
She  was  a  cold,  reserved  child,  and  few  people 
liked  her. 

The  professor  took  the  girls  to  the  theater  one 
night,  and  it  was  a  memorable  night  in  their  lives. 
Each  was  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  and  each 
manifested  it  characteristically.  Bessie's  cheeks 
were  flushed  to  her  eyelashes,  and  she  jerked  the 
buttons  off  both  gloves.  Her  gray  eyes  shone 
and  her  pink  lips  were  parted.  People  stared  at 
her  as  she  passed  and  wondered  who  she  was.  • 
But  for  once  in  her  life  she  was  blind  to  admira- 
tion ;  she  was  going  to  see  a  play !  Hermia 
was  paler  than  ever  and  almost  rigid.  Her  lips 
were  firmly  compressed,  but  her  hands,  in  her  lit- 
tle woolen  gloves,  were  burning,  and  her  eyes 
shone  like  a  cat's  in  the  dark.  They  sat  in  the 
gallery,  but  they  were  in  the  front  row,  and  as 
content  as  any  jev/eled  dame  in  box  or  parquette. 

The  play  was  Monte  Cristo,  and  what  more 
was  needed  to  perfect  the  delight  of  two  girls  con- 
fronted with  stage  illusion  for  the  first  time  ? 
Bessie  laughed  and  wept,  and  rent  her  gloves  to 
shreds  with  the  vehemence  of  her  applause. 
Hermia  sat  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  seat, 
and  neither  laughed,  wept,  nor  applauded.  Her 
eyes,  which  never  left  the  stage,  grew  bigger  and 
bigger,  her  face  paler,  and  her  nostrils  more  tense. 

After   the  play   was  over  she  did   not    utter  a 


Hermia  Suydam.  13 

word  until  she  got  home  ;  but  the  moment  she 
reached  the  bedroom  which  the  sisters  shared  in 
common  she  flung  herself  on  the  floor  and  shrieked 
for  an  hour.  Bessie,  who  was  much  alarmed, 
dashed  water  over  her,  shook  her,  and  finally 
picked  her  up  and  rocked  her  to  sleep.  The 
next  morning  Hermia  was  as  calm  as  usual,  but 
she  developed,  soon  after,  a  habit  of  dreaming 
over  her  books  which  much  perplexed  her  sister. 
Bessie  dreamed  a  little  too,  but  she  always  heard 
when  she  was  spoken  to,  and  Hermia  did  not. 

One  night,  about  three  months  after  the  visit 
to  the  theater,  the  girls  were  in  their  room  prepar- 
ing for  bed.  Hermia  was  sitting  on  the  hearth- 
rug taking  off  her  shoes,  and  Bessie  was  brushing 
her  long  hair  before  the  glass  and  admiring  the  re- 
flection of  her  pretty  face. 

"  Bessie,"  said  Hermia,  leaning  back  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  about  her  knee,  "what  is  your  am- 
bition in  life  ?  " 

Bessie  turned  and  stared  down  at  the  child, 
then  blushed  rosily.  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  nice' 
handsome  husband  and  five  beautiful  children,  all 
dressed  in  white  with  blue  sashes.  And  I  should 
like  to  have  a  pretty  house  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
a  carriage,  and  lots  of  novels.  And  I  should  like 
to  go  to  Europe  and  see  all  the  picture-galleries 
and  churches."  She  had  been  addressing  herself 
in  the  glass,  but  she  suddenly  turned  and  looked 
down  at  Hermia. 


14  Hermia  Suydam. 

"  What  is  your  ambition  ? "  she  asked. 

"  To  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world  !  "  exclaimed  the  child  passionately. 

Bessie  sat  down  on  a  hassock.  She  felt  but 
did  not  comprehend  that  agonized  longing  for  the 
gift  which  nature  had  denied,  and  which  woman 
holds  most  dear.  She  had  always  been  pretty 
and  was  somewhat  vain,  but  she  had  known,  little 
of  the  power  of  beauty,  and  power  and  uncomeli- 
ness  alone  teach  a  woman  beauty's  value.  But 
she  was  sympathetic,  and  she  felt  a  vague  pity  for 
her  sister.  She  thought  it  better,  however,  to  im- 
prove the  occasion. 

*'  Beauty  is  nothing  in  itself,"  she  said,  gently  ; 
"you  must  be  good  and  clever,  and  then  people 
will  think " 

"Bessie,"  interrupted  Hermia,  as  if  she  had 
not  heard,  "  do  you  think  I  will  ever  be  pretty  ?  " 

Bessie  hesitated.  She  was  very  conscientious, 
but  she  was  also  very  tender-hearted.  For  a 
moment  there  was  a  private  battle,  then  conscience 
triumphed.  "  No,"  she  said,  regretfully,  "  I  am 
afraid  you  never  will  be,  dear." 

She  was  looking  unusually  lovely  herself  as  she 
spoke.  Her  shoulders  were  bare  and  her  chemise 
had  dropped  low  on  her  white  bosom.  Her  eyes 
looked  black  in  the  lamp's  narrow  light,  and  her 
soft,  heavy  hair  tumbled  about  her  flushed  face 
and  slender,  shapely  figure.  Hermia  gazed  at  her 
for   a   moment,  and  then  with  a  suppressed  cry 


Hermia  Suydam,  15 

sprang  forward   and   tore   her  sharp  nails  across 
her  sister's  cheek. 

Bessie  gave  a  shriek  of  pain  and  anger,  and, 
catching  the  panting,  struggling  child,  slapped  her 
until  her  arm  ached.  "  There  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
finally,  shaking  her  sister  until  the  child's  teeth 
clacked  together,  ''  you  little  tiger  cat  !  You 
sha^i't  have  any  supper  for  a  week."  Then  she 
dropped  Hermia  suddenly  and  burst  into  tears. 
"  Oh,  it  is  dreadfully  wicked  to  lose  one's  temper 
like  that  ;  but  my  poor  face  !  "  She  rubbed  the 
tears  from  her  eyes  and,  standing  up,  carefully 
examined  her  wounds  in  the  glass.  She  heaved  a 
sigh  of  relief ;  they  were  not  very  deep.  She 
went  to  the  washstand  and  bathed  her  face,  then 
returned  to  her  sister.  Hermia  stood  on  the 
hearth-rug.  She  had  not  moved  since  Bessie 
dropped  her  hands  from  her  shoulders. 

Bessie  folded  her  arms  magisterially  and  looked 
down  upon  the  culprit,  her  delicate  brows  drawn 
together,  her  eyes  as  severe  as  those  of  an  angel 
whose  train  has  been  stepped  on.  ^'  Are  you  not 
sorry  ? "  she  demanded  sternly. 

Hermia  gazed  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment. 
*' Yes,"  she  said,  finally,"!  am  sorry,  and  I'll 
never  get  outside-mad  again  as  long  as  I  live. 
I've  made  a  fool  of  myself."  Then  she  marched 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room  and  went  to  bed. 


1 6  Hermia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER   II. 

JOHN    SUYDAM    GIVES    HIS    BLESSING. 

One  day  a  bank  clerk  came  up  to  the  quiet 
house  with  a  message  to  John  Suydam.  As  he 
was  leaving  he  met  Bessie  in  the  hall.  Each  did 
what  wiser  heads  had  done  before — they  fell  wildly 
and  uncompromisingly  in  love  at  first  sight.  How 
Frank  Mordaunt  managed  to  find  an  excuse  for 
speaking  to  her  he  never  remembered,  nor  how  he 
had  been  transported  from  the  hall  into  the  dingy 
old  drawing-room.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  was 
still  there,  seated  on  a  sofa  of  faded  brocade, 
and  looking  into  the  softest  eyes  in  the  world. 

After  that  he  came  every  evening.  John  Suy- 
dam knew  nothing  of  it.  Bessie,  from  the  parlor 
window,  watched  Mordaunt  come  down  the 
street  and  opened  the  front  door  herself ;  the  old 
man,  crouching  over  his  library  fire,  heard  not  an 
echo  of  the  whispers  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall. 

Poor  Bessie  !  Frank  Mordaunt  was  the  first 
young  man  with  whom  she  had  ever  exchanged 
a  half-dozen  consecutive  sentences.  No  wonder 
her  heart  beat  responsively  to  the  first  love  and  the 
first  spoken  admiration.     Mordaunt,  as  it  chanced, 


Herviia  Suydam.  17 

was  not  a  villain,  and  the  role  of  victim  was  not 
offered  to  Bessie.  She  was  used  to  economy,  he 
had  a  fair  salary,  and  they  decided  to  be  married 
at  once.  When  they  had  agreed  upon  the  date, 
Bessie  summoned  up  her  courage  and  informed 
her  uncle  of  her  plans.  He  made  no  objection  ; 
he  was  probably  delighted  to  get  rid  of  her  ;  and 
as  a  wedding- gift  he  presented  her  with — Hermia. 

"  I  like  her  better  than  I  do  you,"  he  said,  "  for 
she  has  more  brains  in  her  little  finger  than  you 
have  in  your  whole  head  ;  and  she  will  never  be 
contented  with  a  bank  clerk.  But  I  cannot  be 
bothered  with  children.  I  will  pay  you  thirty 
dollars  a  quarter  for  her  board,  and  William 
Crosby  can  continue  to  teach  her.  I  hope  you 
will  be  happy,  Elizabeth  ;  but  marriage  is  always 
a  failure.  You  can  send  Hermia  to  me  every 
Christmas  morning,  and  I  will  give  her  twenty- 
five  dollars  with  which  to  clothe  herself  during 
the  year.  I  shall  not  go  to  the  wedding.  I  dis- 
like weddings  and  funerals.  There  should  be  no 
periods  in  life,  only  commas.  When  a  man  dies 
he  doesn't  mind  the  period  ;  he  can't  see  it.  But 
he  need  not  remind  himself  of  it.     You  can  go." 

Bessie  was  married  in  a  pretty  white  gown, 
made  from  an  old  one  of  her  mother's,  and  St. 
Mark's  had  never  held  a  dainter  bride.  No  one 
was  present  but  Mordaunt's  parents,  the  pro- 
fessor, who  was  radiant,  and  Hermia,  who  was 
the  only  bridesmaid.  But  it  was  a  fair  spring 
2 


1 8  Hermia  Suydam. 

morning,  the  birds  were  singing  in  an  eager 
choir,  and  the  altar  had  been  decorated  with  a 
few  greens  and  flowers  by  the  professor  and  Her- 
mia. At  the  conclusion  of  the  service  the  clergy- 
man patted  Bessie  on  the  head  and  told  her  he 
was  sure  she  would  be  happy,  and  the  girl  forgot 
her  uncle's  benediction. 

"  Bessie,"  said  Hermia  an  hour  later,  as  they 
were  walking  toward  their  new  home,  "  I  will 
never  be  married  until  I  can  have  a  dress  covered 
with  stars  like  those  Hans  Andersen's  princesses 
carried  about  in  a  nutshell  when  they  were  dis- 
guised as  beggar-maids,  and  until  I  can  be  married 
in  a  grand  cathedral  and  have  a  great  organ  just 
pealing  about  me,  and  a  white-robed  choir  singing 
like  seraphs,  and  roses  to  walk  on " 

"  Hermia,"  said  Bessie  dreamily,  "  I  wish  you 
would  not  talk  so  much,  and  you  shouldn't  wish 
for  things  you  can  never  have." 

"I  will  have  them,"  exclaimed  the  child  under 
her  breath.     "  I  will !  I  will  !  " 


Hermia  Suydam.  19 


CHAPTER  III. 

BROOKLYN    AND    BABYLON. 

Thirteen  years  passed.  Bessie  had  three  of 
her  desired  children  and  a  nice  little  flat  in 
Brooklyn.  Reverses  and  trials  had  come,  but 
on  the  whole  Mordaunt  was  fairly  prosperous,  and 
they  were  happy.  The  children  did  not  wear 
white  dresses  and  blue  sashes  ;  they  were  generally 
to  be  seen  in  stout  ginghams  and  woolen  plaids, 
but  they  were  chubby,  healthy,  pretty  things, 
and  their  mother  was  as  proud  of  them  as  if 
they  had  realized  every  detail  of  her  youthful 
and  ambitious  dreams. 

Bessie's  prettiness  had  gone  with  her  first  baby, 
as  American  prettiness  is  apt  to  do,  but  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  nature  remained  and  shone  through 
her  calm  eyes  and  the  lines  of  care  about  her 
mouth.  She  had  long  since  forgotten  to  sigh 
over  the  loss  of  her  beauty,  she  had  so  little  time  ; 
but  she  still  remembered  to  give  a  deft  coil  to  her 
hair,  and  her  plain  little  gowns  were  never  dowdy. 
She  knew  nothing  about  modern  decorative  art, 
and  had  no  interest  in  hard-wood  floors  or  dados  ; 
but  her  house  was  pretty  and  tasteful  in  the  old- 


20  Hermia  Suydam. 

fashioned    way,    and    in    her    odd    moments    she 
worked  at  cross-stitch. 

And  Hermia  ?  Poor  girl  !  She  had  not  found 
the  beauty  her  sister  had  lost.  Her  hair  was  still 
the  same  muddy  blonde-brown,  although  with  a 
latent  suggestion  of  color,  and  she  still  brushed  it 
back  with  the  severity  of  her  childhood.  Noth- 
ing, she  had  long  since  concluded,  could  beautify 
her,  and  she  would  waste  no  time  in  the  attempt. 
She  was  a  trifle  above  medium  height,  and  her 
thin  figure  bent  a  little  from  the  waist.  Her  skin 
was  as  sallow  as  of  yore,  and  her  eyes  were  dull. 
She  had  none  of  Bessie's  sweetness  of  expression  ; 
her  cold,  intellectual  face  just  escaped  being  sul- 
len. Her  health  was  what  might  be  expected  of 
a  girl  who  exercised  little  and  preferred  thought 
to  sleep.  She  had  kept  the  promise  made  the 
night  she  had  scratched  her  sister's  face  ;  during 
the  past  fifteen  years  no  one  had  seen  her  lose 
her  self-control  for  a  moment.  She  was  as  cold 
as  a  polar  night,  and  as  impassive  as  an  Anglo- 
American.  She  was  very  kind  to  her  sister,  and 
did  what  she  could  to  help  her.  She  taught  the 
children  ;  and,  though  with  much  private  rebellion, 
she  frequently  made  their  clothes  and  did  the 
marketing.  Frank  and  Bessie  regarded  her  with 
awe  and  distant  admiration,  but  the  children 
liked  her.  The  professor  had  taught  her  until  he 
could  teach  her  no  more,  and  then  had  earned  his 
subsistence   by  reading  aloud  to  John  Suydam. 


Hermia  Suydam.  21 

A  year  or  two  before,  he  had  departed  for  less 
material  duties,  with  few  regrets. 

But,  if  Hermia  no  longer  studied,  she  belonged 
to  several  free  libraries  and  read  with  unflagging 
vigor.  Of  late  she  had  taken  a  deep  interest  in 
art,  and  she  spent  many  hours  in  the  picture  gal- 
leries of  New  York.  Moreover,  she  grasped  any 
excuse  which  took  her  across  the  river.  With  all 
the  fervor  of  her  silent  soul  she  loved  New  York 
and  hated  Brooklyn. 

She  was  sitting  in  the  dining-room  one  even- 
ing, helping  Lizzie,  the  oldest  child,  with  her 
lessons.  Lizzie  was  sleepy,  and  was  droning 
through  her  multiplication  table,  when  she  hap- 
pened to  glance  at  her  aunt.  ''  You  are  not  pay- 
ing attention,"  she  exclaimed,  triumphantly  ;  "  I 
don't  believe  you've  heard  a  word  of  that  old 
table,  and  I'm  not  going  to  say  it  over  again." 

Hermia,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  vacantly  on 
the  fire,  started  and  took  the  book  from  Liz- 
zie's lap.  "  Go  to  bed,"  she  said  ;  "you  are  tired, 
and  you  know  your  tables  very  well." 

Lizzie,  who  was  guiltily  conscious  that  she  had 
never  known  her  tables  less  well,  accepted  her 
release  with  alacrity,  kissed  her  aunt  good-night, 
and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

Hermia  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  It 
looked  upon  walls  and  fences,  but  lineaments 
were  blotted  out  to-night  under  a  heavy  fall  of 
snow.      Beyond  the  lower  roofs  loomed  the  tall 


22  Hermia  Suydam. 

walls  of  houses  on  the  neighboring  street,  moment- 
arily discernible  through  the  wind-parted  storm. 

Hermia  pushed  the  snow  from  the  sill,  then 
closed  the  window  with  a  sigh.  The  snow  and 
the  night  were  the  two  things  in  her  life  that  she 
loved.  They  were  projected  into  her  little  circle 
from  the  grand  whole  of  which  they  were  parts, 
and  were  in  no  way  a  result  of  her  environment. 

She  went  into  the  sitting-room  and  sat  down  by 
the  table.  She  took  up  a  book  and  stared  at  its 
unturned  pages  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then 
she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her.  Mor- 
daunt  was  sitting  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire, 
smoking  a  pipe  and  reading  a  magazine  story 
aloud  to  his  wife,  who  sat  near  him,  sewing.  Liz- 
zie had  climbed  on  his  lap,  and  with  her  head 
against  his  shoulder  was  fast  asleep. 

Hermia  took  up  a  pencil  and  made  a  calcula- 
tion on  the  fly-leaf  of  her  book.  It  did  not  take 
long,  but  the  result  was  a  respectable  sum — 4,620. 
Allowing  for  her  sister's  brief  illnesses  and  for 
several  minor  interruptions,  she  had  looked  upon 
that  same  scene,  varied  in  trifling  details,  just 
about  4,620  times  in  the  past  thirteen  years.  She 
rose  suddenly  and  closed  her  book. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  ''  I  am  tired.  I  am 
going  to  bed." 

Mordaunt  muttered  "  good-night  "  without 
raising  his  eyes  ;  but  Bessie  turned  her  head  with 
an  anxious  smile. 


Hermia  Suydam.  23 

"  Good-night,"  she  said  ;  ''  I  think  you  need  a 
tonic.  And  would  you  mind  putting  Lizzie  to 
bed  ?  I  am  so  interested  in  this  story.  Frank, 
carry  her  into  the  nursery." 

Hermia  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  she  were 
about  to  refuse,  but  she  turned  and  followed 
Frank  into  the  next  room. 

She  undressed  the  inert,  protesting  child  and 
tucked  her  in  bed.  Then  she  went  to  her  room 
and  locked  the  door.  She  lit  the  gas  mechan- 
ically and  stood  still  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  flung  herself  wildly 
about.  After  a  time  she  clasped  her  hands  tightly 
about  the  top  of  her  head  and  gazed  fixedly  at 
the  ceiling.  Her  family  would  not  have  recog- 
nized her  in  that  moment.  Her  disheveled  hair 
clung  about  her  flushed  face,  and  through  its 
tangle  her  eyes  glittered  like  those  of  a  snake. 
For  a  few  moments  her  limbs  were  as  rigid  as  if 
the  life  had  gone  out  of  them.  Then  she  threw 
herself  over  on  her  face  and  burst  into  a  wild  pas- 
sion of  weeping.  The  hard,  inward  sobs  shook 
her  slender  body  as  the  screw  shakes  the  steamer. 

"  How  I  hate  it  !  How  I  hate  it  !  How  I  hate 
it !  "  she  reiterated,  between  her  paroxysms.  "  O 
God  !  is  there  nothing — nothing — nothing  in  life 
but  this  ?  Nothing  but  hideous  monotony — and 
endless  days — and  thousands  and  thousands  of 
hours  that  are  as  alike  as  grains  of  sand  ?  " 

She  got  up  suddei?'/  and  filling  a  basin  with 


24  Hermia   Suydam. 

water  thrust  her  head  into  it.  The  water  was  as 
cold  as  melting  ice,  and  when  she  had  dried  her 
hair  she  no  longer  felt  as  if  her  brain  were  trying 
to  force  its  way  through  the  top  of  her  skull. 

iiermia,  like  many  other  women,  lived  a  double 
life.  On  the  night  when,  under  the  dramatic 
illusion  of  iSlonte  Cristo,  her  imagination  had 
awakened  with  a  shock  which  rent  the  film  of 
childhood  from  her  brain,  she  had  found  a  dream- 
world of  her  own.  The  prosaic  never  suspected 
its  existence  ;  the  earth's  millions  who  dwelt  in 
the  same  world  cared  nothing  for  any  kingdom 
in  it  but  their  own  ;  she  was  sovereign  of  a  vast 
domain  wrapped  in  the  twilight  mystery  of  dream- 
land, but  peopled  with  obedient  subjects  con- 
ceived and  molded  in  her  waking  brain.  She 
walked  stoically  through  the  monotonous  round 
of  her  daily  life  ;  she  took  a  grim  and  bitter 
pleasure  in  fulfilling  every  duty  it  developed,  and 
she  never  neglected  the  higher  duty  she  owed  her 
intellect  ;  but  when  night  came,  and  the  key  was 
turned  in  her  door,  she  sprang  from  the  life  she 
abhorred  into  the  world  of  her  delight.  She 
would  fight  sleep  off  for  hours,  for  sleep  meant 
temporary  death,  and  the  morning  a  return  to 
material  existence.  A  ray  of  light  from  the  street- 
lamp  struggled  through  the  window,  and,  fighting 
with  the  shadows,  filled  the  ugly,  common  little 
room  with  glamour  and  illusion.  The  walls 
swept  afar  and  rolled  themselves  into  marble  pil- 


Hermia  Suydam.  25 

lars  that  towered  vaporously  in  the  gloom.  Be- 
yond, rooms  of  state  and  rooms  of  pleasure  cease- 
lessly multiplied.  On  the  pictured  floors  lay 
rugs  so  deep  that  the  echo  of  a  lover's  footfall 
would  never  go  out  into  eternity.  From  the 
enameled  walls  sprang  a  vaulted  ceiling  painted 
with  forgotten  art.  Veils  of  purple  stuffs,  gold- 
wrought,  jewel-fringed,  so  dense  that  the  roar  of 
a  cannon  could  not  have  forced  its  way  into  the 
stillness  of  that  room,  masked  windows  and  doors. 
From  beyond  those  pillars,  from  the  far  perspec- 
tive of  those  ever-doubling  chambers  came  the 
plash  of  waters,  faint  and  sweet  as  the  music  of 
the  bulbul.  The  bed,  aloft  on  its  dais,  was 
muffled  in  lace  which  might  have  fringed  a  mist. 
Hidden  in  the  curving  leaves  of  pale-tinted  lotus 
flowers  were  tiny  flames  of  light,  and  in  an  urn 
of  agate  burned  perfumed  woods.     *     *     * 

For  this  girl  within  her  unseductive  frame  had 
all  the  instincts  of  a  beautiful  woman,  for  the 
touch  of  whose  lips  men  would  dig  the  grave 
of  their  life's  ambitions.  That  kiss  it  was  the 
passionate  cry  of  her  heart  to  give  to  lips  as  warm 
and  imploring  as  her  own.  She  would  thrust 
handfuls  of  violets  between  her  blankets,  and 
imagine  herself  lying  by  the  sea  in  a  nest  of 
fragrance.  Her  body  longed  for  the  softness  of 
cambric  and  for  silk  attire  ;  her  eye  for  all  the 
beauty  that  the  hand  of  man  had  ever  wrought. 

When  wandering  among  those  brain-born  shad- 


26  Hermia  Suydam. 

ows  of  hers,  she  was  beautiful,  of  course  ;  and, 
equally  inferable,  those  dreams  had  a  hero.  This 
lover's  personality  grew  with  her  growth  and 
changed  with  every  evolution  of  the  mind  that 
had  given  it  birth  ;  but,  strangely  enough,  the 
lover  himself  had  retained  his  proportions  and 
lineaments  from  the  day  of  his  creation.  Is  it 
to  be  supposed  that  Hermia  was  wedded  peace- 
fully to  her  ideal,  and  that  together  they  reigned 
over  a  vast  dominion  of  loving  and  respectful 
subjects  ?  Not  at  all.  If  there  was  one  word 
in  the  civilized  vocabulary  that  Hermia  hated 
it  was  that  word  "  marriage."  To  her  it  was 
correlative  with  all  that  was  commonplace  ;  with 
a  prosaic  grind  that  ate  and  corroded  away  life 
and  soul  and  imagination ;  with  a  dreary  and  infi- 
nite monotony.  Bessie  Mordaunt's  peaceful  mar- 
ried life  was  hideous  to  her  sister.  Year  after 
year, — neither  change  nor  excitement,  neither 
rapture  nor  anguish,  nor  romance  nor  poetry, 
neither  ambition  nor  achievement,  nor  recognition 
nor  power  !  Nothing  of  mystery,  nothing  of 
adventure  ;  neither  palpitation  of  daring  nor  quiver 
of  secrecy  ;  nothing  but  kisses  of  calm  affection, 
babies,  and  tidies  !  4,620  evenings  of  calm,  domes- 
tic bliss  ;  4,620  days  of  placid,  housewifely  duties  ! 
To  Hermia  such  an  existence  was  a  tragedy  more 
appalling  than  relentless  immortality.  Bessie  had 
her  circle  of  friends,  and  in  each  household  the 
tragedy  was  repeated  ;  unless,  mayhap,  the  couple 


Hermia  Suydam.  27 

were    ill-mated,    when    the    tragedy    became    a 
comedy,  and  a  vulgar  one  at  that. 

Hermia's  hatred  of  marriage  sprang  not  from 
innate  immorality,  but  from  a  strongly  romantic 
nature  stimulated  to  abnormal  extreme  by  the 
constant,  small-beer  wave-beats  of  a  humdrum, 
uniform,  ever-persisting,  abhorred  environment. 
If  no  marriage-bells  rang  over  her  cliffs  and  waters 
and  through  her  castle  halls,  her  life  was  more 
ideally  perfect  than  any  life  within  her  ken  which 
drowsed  beneath  the  canopy  of  law  and  church. 
Regarding  the  subject  from  the  point  of  view  to 
which  her  nature  and  conditions  had  focused  her 
mental  vision,  love  needed  the  exhilarating  influ- 
ence of  liberty,  the  stimulation  of  danger,  and 
the  enchantment  of  mystery. 

Of  men  practically  she  knew  little.  There  were 
young  men  in  her  sister's  circle,  and  Mordaunt 
occasionally  brought  home  his  fellow  clerks  ;  but 
Hermia  had  never  given  one  of  them  a  thought. 
They  were  limited  and  commonplace,  and  her 
reputation  for  intellectuality  had  the  effect  of 
making  them  appear  at  their  worst  upon  those 
occasions  when  circumstances  compelled  them  to 
talk  to  her.  And  she  had  not  the  beauty  to  win 
forgiveness  for  her  brains.  She  appreciated  this 
fact  and  it  embittered  her,  little  as  she  cared  for 
her  brother's  uninteresting  friends,  and  sent  her 
to  the  depths  of  her  populous  soul. 

The  books  she  read  had  their  influence  upon 


28  Hermia  Suydam. 

that  soul-population.  The  American  novel  had 
much  the  same  effect  upon  her  as  the  married 
life  of  her  sister  and  her  sister's  friends.  She 
cared  for  but  little  of  the  literature  of  France,  and 
the  best  of  it  deified  love  and  scorned  the  conven- 
tions. She  reveled  in  mediaeval  and  ancient  his- 
tory and  loved  the  English  poets,  and  both  poets 
and  history  held  aloft,  on  pillars  of  fragrant  and 
indestructible  wood,  her  own  sad  ideality. 


Hermia  Suydam.  29 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IN    THE    GREEN    ROOM    OF    LITERATURE. 

Hermia's  imagination  in  its  turn  demanded  a 
safety-valve  ;  she  found  it  necessary,  occasionally, 
to  put  her  dreams  into  substance  and  sequence. 
In  other  words  she  wrote.  Not  prose.  She  had 
neither  the  patience  nor  the  desire.  Nor  did  she 
write  poetry.  She  believed  that  no  woman,  save 
perhaps  time-enveloped  Sappho,  ever  did,  and 
she  had  no  idea  of  adding  her  pseudonym  to  the 
list  of  failures.  When  her  brain  became  over- 
charged, she  dashed  off  verses,  wildly  romantic, 
and  with  a  pen  heated  white.  There  was  a  wail 
and  an  hysterical  passion  in  what  she  wrote  that 
took  the  hearts  of  a  large  class  of  readers  by 
storm,  and  her  verses  found  prompt  acceptance 
by  the  daily  and  weekly  papers.  She  had  as  yet 
aspired  to  nothing  higher.  She  was  distinctly 
aware  that  her  versification  was  crude  and  her 
methods  faulty.  To  get  her  verses  into  the  mag- 
azines they  must  be  fairly  correct  and  almost 
proper,  and  both  attainments  demanded  an 
amount  of  labor  distasteful  to  her  impatient 
nature.     Of   late,    scarcely   a   week    had    passed 


3©  Hermia  Suydam. 

without  the  appearance  of  several  metrical  con- 
tributions over  the  signature  "  Quirus  ;  "  and  the 
wail  and  the  passion  were  growing  more  pierc- 
ing and  tumultuous.  The  readers  were  moved, 
interested,  or  amused,  according  to  their  respect- 
ive natures. 

The  morning  after  the  little  arithmetical  prob- 
lem, Hermia  arose  early  and  sat  down  at  her  desk. 
She  drew  out  a  package  of  MS.  and  read  it  over 
twice,  then  determined  to  have  a  flirtation  with 
the  magazines.  These  verses  were  more  skillful 
from  a  literary  point  of  view  than  any  of  her  pre- 
vious work,  because,  for  the  sake  of  variety,  she 
had  plagiarized  some  good  work  of  an  English 
poet.  The  story  was  a  charming  one,  dramatic, 
somewhat  fragmentary,  and  a  trifle  less  caloric 
than  her  other  effusions.  She  revised  it  care- 
fully, and  mailed  it,  later  in  the  day,  to  one  of  the 
leading  New  York  magazines. 

Two  weeks  passed  and  no  answer  came.  Then, 
snatching  at  anything  which  offered  its  minimum 
of  distraction,  she  determined  to  call  on  the 
editor.  She  had  never  presented  herself  to  an 
editor  before,  fearing  his  betrayal  of  her  identity ; 
so  well  had  she  managed  that  not  even  Bessie 
knew  she  wrote  ;  but  she  regarded  the  magazine 
editor  from  afar  as  an  exalted  being,  and  was 
willing  to  put  her  trust  in  him.  She  felt  shy 
about  acknowledging  herself  the  apostle  of  beauty 
and  the  priestess  of  passion,  but  ennui  conquered 


Hermia  Suydam.  31 

diffidence,  and  one  morning  she  presented  herself 
at  the  door  of  her  editor's  den. 

The  editor,  who  was  glancing  over  proofs, 
raised  his  eyes  as  she  entered,  and  did  not  look 
overjoyed  to  see  her.  Nevertheless,  he  politely 
asked  her  to  be  seated.  Poor  Hermia  by  this 
time  was  cold  with  fright ;  her  knees  were  shaking. 
She  was  used  to  self-control,  however,  and  in  a 
moment  managed  to  remark  that  she  had  come  to 
inquire  about  the  fate  of  her  poem.  The  editor 
bowed,  extracted  a  MS.  from  a  pigeon-hole  be- 
hind him,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  I  cannot  use  it,"  he  said,  *' but  1  am  greatly 
obliged  to  you,  nevertheless.  We  are  always 
grateful  for  contributions." 

He  had  a  pleasant  way  of  looking  upon  tlie 
matter  as  settled,  but  an  ounce  or  two  of  Her- 
mia's  courage  had  returned,  and  she  was  deter- 
mined to  get  something  more  out  of  the  interview 
than  a  glimpse  of  an  editor. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  '*  but  of  course  I  ex- 
pected it.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  is 
the  matter  with  it  ? " 

Editors  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  write  a  crit- 
icism of  a  returned  manuscript,  but  they  are  more 
willing  to  air  their  views  verbally  than  people 
imagine.  It  gives  them  an  opportunity  to  lecture 
and  generalize,  and  they  enjoy  doing  both. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  editor  in  question. 
"Your  principal  fault  is  that  you  are  too  highly 


32  Her  mi  a  Suydam. 

emotional.  Your  verses  would  be  unhealthy 
reading  for  my  patrons.  This  is  a  family  maga- 
zine, and  has  always  borne  the  reputation  of  in- 
corruptible morality.  It  would  not  do  for  us  to 
print  matter  which  a  father  might  not  wish  his 
daughter  to  read.  The  American  young  girl 
should  be  the  conscientious  American  editor's 
first  consideration." 

This  interview  was. among  the  anguished  mem- 
ories of  Hermia's  life.  After  her  return  home  she 
thought  of  so  many  good  things  she  might  have 
said.  This  was  one  which  she  uttered  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  bed-chamber  that  evening  : 

("  You  are  perfectly  right,"  with  imperturb- 
ability. *'  *  Protect  the  American  young  girl  lest 
she  protect  not  herself  should  be  the  motto  and 
the  mission  of  the  American  editor  I  ") 

When  she  was  at  one  with  the  opportunity,  she 
asked  :  "  And  my  other  faults  ?  " 

"  Your  other  faults  ?  "  replied  the  unconscious 
victim  of  lagging  wit.  "  There  is  a  strain  of  phi- 
losophy in  your  mind  which  unfits  you  for  magazine 
work.  A  magazine  should  be  light  and  not  too 
original.  People  pick  it  up  after  the  work  of  the 
day  ;  they  want  to  be  amused  and  entertained, 
they  do  not  want  to  think.  Anything  new,  any- 
thing out  of  the  beaten  track,  anything  which  does 
not  suggest  old  and  familiar  favorites,  anything 
which  requires  a  mental  effort  to  grasp,  annoys 
them  and  affects  the  popularity  of  the  magazine. 


Hertnia  Suydam.  3-^ 

Of  course  we  like  originality  and  imagination — do 
not  misunderstand  me  ;  what  we  do  not  want  is 
the  complex,  the  radically  original,  or  the  deep. 
We  have  catered  to  a  large  circle  of  readers  for  a 
great  many  years  ;  we  know  exactly  what  they 
want,  and  they  know  exactly  what  to  expect. 
When  they  see  the  name  of  a  new  writer  in  our 
pages  they  feel  sure  that  whatever  may  be  the 
freshness  and  breeziness  of  the  newcomer,  he  (or 
she)  will  not  call  upon  them  to  witness  the  tunnel- 
ing of  unhewn  rock — so  to  speak.  Do  you  grasp 
my  meaning  t  " 

(Hermia  at  home  in  her  bed-chamber  :  *'  I  see. 
Your  distinctions  are  admirable.  You  want 
originality  with  the  sting  extracted,  soup  instead 
of  blood,  an  exquisite  etching  rather  than  the  bold 
sweep  and  color  of  brush  and  oils.  Your  con- 
tributors must  say  an  old  thing  in  a  new  way,  or 
a  new  thing  in  so  old  a  way  that  the  shock  will  be 
broken,  that  the  reader  will  never  know  he  has 
harbored  a  new-born  babe.  Your  little  lecture 
has  been  of  infinite  value  to  me.  I  shall  ponder 
over  it  until  I  evolve  something  worthy  of  the 
wary  parent  and  the  American  Young  Girl.") 

Hermia  in  the  editor's  den  :  "  Oh,  yes  ;  thank 
you  very  much.  But  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  do 
anything  you  will  care  for.     Good-morning." 

The  next  day  she  sent  the  manuscript  to  an- 
other magazine,  and,  before  she  could  reasonably 
expect  a  reply,  again  invaded  the  sanctity  of  edi- 
3 


34  Hermia  Suydam. 

torial  seclusion.  The  genus  editor  amused  her  ; 
she  resolved  to  keep  her  courage  by  the  throat 
and  study  the  arbiters  of  literary  destinies.  It  is 
probable  that,  if  her  second  editor  had  not  been 
young  and  very  gracious,  her  courage  would  again 
have  flown  off  on  deriding  wings  ;  as  it  was,  it  did 
not  even  threaten  desertion. 

She  found  the  editor  engaged  in  nothing  more 
depressing  than  the  perusal  of  a  letter.  He 
smiled  most  promisingly  when  she  announced  her- 
self as  the  mysterious  ''  Quirus,"  but  folded  his 
hands  deprecatingly. 

"  I  am  soriy  I  cannot  use  that  poem,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible.  It  has  decided 
merit,  and,  in  view  of  the  awful  stuff  we  are  obliged 
to  publish,  it  would  be  a  welcome  addition  to  our 
pages.  I  don't  mind  the  strength  of  the  poem  or 
the  plot ;  you  have  made  your  meaning  artistically 
obscure.  But  there  is  one  word  in  it  which  would 
make  it  too  strong  meat  for  the  readers  of  this 
magazine.  I  refer  to  the  word  '  naked.'  It  is  quite 
true  that  the  adjective  '  naked  '  is  used  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  noun  *  skies  ; '  but  the  word  itself  is 
highly  objectionable.  I  have  been  trying  to  find 
a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  I  substituted  the  word 
'nude,'  but  that  spoils  the  meter,  you  see.  Then 
I  sought  the  dictionary."  He  opened  a  dictionary 
that  stood  on  a  revolving  stand  beside  him,  and 
read  aloud  :  "  '  Naked — uncovered  ;  unclothed  ; 
nude;    bare;    open;    defenseless;    plain;    mere.' 


Hermia  Suydam.  35 

None  of  these  will  answer  the  purpose,  you  see. 
They  are  either  too  short  or  too  long ;  and  '  open  ' 
does  not  corAey  the  idea.  I  am  really  afraid  that 
nothing  can  be  done.  Suppose  you  try  something 
else  and  be  more  careful  with  your  vocabulary.  I 
trust  you  catch  my  idea,  because  I  am  really  quite 
interested  in  your  work.  It  is  like  the  fresh 
breeze  of  spring  when  it  is  not  " — here  he  laughed 
— ''  the  torrid  breath  of  the  simoon.  I  have  read 
some  of  your  other  verse,  you  see." 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,"  said  Hermia,  lean- 
ing forward  and  gazing  reflectively  at  him.  "  Man- 
ner is  everything.  Matter  is  a  creature  whose  limbs 
may  be  of  wood,  whose  joints  may  be  sapless  ;  so 
long  as  he  is  covered  by  a  first-class  tailor  he  is  a 
being  to  strut  proudly  down  to  posterity.  Or,  for 
the  sake  of  variety,  which  has  its  value,  the  creat- 
ure may  change  .his  sex  and  become  a  pink- 
cheeked,  flax-haired,  blue-eyed  doll.  Hang  upon 
her  garments  cut  by  an  unconventional  hand, 
looped  eccentrically  and  draped  artistically,  and 
the  poor  little  doll  knows  not  herself  from  her 
clothes.  Have  I  gazed  understandingly  upon  the 
works  of  the  literary  clock  ?" 

The  editor  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
aloud.  "You  are  very  clever,"  he  exclaimed, 
"but  I  am  afraid  your  estimate  of  us  is  as  correct 
as  it  is  flattering.  We  are  a  set  of  cowards,  but 
we  should  be  bankrupt  if  we  were  not." 

Hermia  took  the  manuscript  he  had  extracted 


$6  Hermia  Suydam. 

from  a  drawer,  and  rose.  "  At  all  events  you  were 
charitable  to  read  my  verses,"  she  said,  "  and 
more  than  good  to  attempt  their  re-form." 

The  editor  stood  up  also.  "  Oh,  do  not  mention 
it,"  he  said,  ''and  write  me  something  else — some- 
thing equally  impassioned  but  quite  irreproach- 
able. Aside  from  the  defect  I  mentioned,  there 
were  one  or  two  verses  which  I  should  have  been 
obliged  to  omil." 

Hermia  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  might 
repeatedly  work  the  lovers  up  to  the  verge  of  dis- 
aster, then,  just  before  the  fatal  moment,  wrench 
them  apart  and  substitute  asterisks  for  curses. 
The  school-girls  would  palpitate,  the  old  maids 
thrill,  the  married  women  smile,  and  the  men  grin. 
No  harm  would  be  done,  maidens  and  maids 
would  lay  it  down  with  a  long-drawn  sigh — of 
relief  ? — or  regret  ? 

Hermia  kept  these  reflections  to  herself  and 
departed,  thinking  her  editor  a  charming  man. 

When  she  reached  the  sidewalk  she  stood  irres- 
olute for  a  moment,  then  walked  rapidly  for  many 
blocks.  The  Mecca  of  her  pilgrimage  was  another 
publishing-house.  She  stepped  briskly  upstairs 
and  asked  for  the  editor  with  a  confidence  born 
of  excitement  and  encouragement.  After  a  short 
delay  she  was  shown  into  his  office,  and  began  the 
attack  without  preliminary. 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  verses,"  she  said, 
*'  which   have   been    declined   by    two    of    your 


Her  mi  a  Suydam,  37 

esteemed  contemporaries  on  the  ground  of  uncon- 
ventionality — of  being  too  highly  seasoned  for 
the  gentle  palates  to  which  they  cater.  I  bring 
them  to  you  because  I  believe  you  have  more 
courage  than  the  majority  of  your  tribe.  You 
wrote  two  books  in  which  you  broke  out  wildly 
once  or  twice.  Now  I  want  you  to  read  this 
while  I  am  here.     It  will  take  but  a  few  moments." 

The  editor,  who  had  a  highly  non-committal 
air,  smiled  slightly,  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
verses.     He  read  them  through,  then  looked  up. 

"  I  rather  like  them,"  he  said.  "  They  have  a 
certain  virility,  although  I  do  not  mistake  the 
strength  of  passion  for  creative  force.  But  they 
are  pretty  tropical,  and  the  versification  is  crude. 
I — am  afraid — they — will  hardly — do." 

He  looked  out  of  the  window,  then  smiled  out- 
right. It  rather  pleased  him  to  dare  that  before 
which  his  brethren  faltered.  He  made  a  number 
of  marks  on  the  manuscript. 

"  That  rectifies  the  crudeness  a  little,"  he  said, 
"  and  the  poem  certainly  has  intellectuality  and 
merit.  You  can  leave  it.  I  will  let  you  know  in 
a  day  or  two.  Your  address  is  on  the  copy,  I 
suppose.  I  think  you  may  count  upon  the  availa- 
bility of  your  verses." 

Hermia  accepted  her  dismissal  and  went  home 
much  elated.  The  verses  were  printed  in  the 
next  issue  of  the  magazine,  and  there  was  a  mild 
storm  on  the   literary  lake.     The  course  of  the 


38  Hermia  Suydam. 

magazine,  in  sending  up  a  stream  of  red-hot  lava 
in  place  of  the  usual  shower-bath  of  lemonade  and 
claret-cup,  was  severely  criticised,  but  there  were 
those  who  said  that  this  deliberately  audacious 
editor  enjoyed  the  little  cyclone  he  had  provoked. 
This  was  the  most  exciting  episode  Hermia 
could  recall  since  Bessie's  marriasre. 


Hermia  Suydam.  39 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    SWEETS    OF    SOLITUDE. 

A  FEW  weeks  later  Frank  made  an  announce- 
ment which  gave  Hermia  a  genuine  thrill  of  de- 
light. A  fellow  bank-clerk  was  obliged  to  spend 
some  months  in  California,  and  had  offered  Mor- 
daunt  his  house  in  Jersey  for  the  summer.  Her- 
mia would  not  consent  to  go  with  them,  in  spite  of 
their  entreaties.  As  far  back  as  she  could  re- 
member, way  down  through  the  long  perspective 
of  her  childhood,  she  had  never  been  quite  alone 
except  at  night,  nor  could  she  remember  the  time 
when  she  had  not  longed  for  solitude.  And  now  ! 
To  be  alone  for  four  months  !  No  more  even- 
ings of  domestic  bliss,  no  more  piles  of  stock- 
ings to  darn,  no  more  dinners  to  concoct,  no 
more  discussions  upon  economy,  no  more  daily 
tasks  carefully  planned  by  Bessie's  methodical 
mind,  no  more  lessons  to  teach,  no  more  anything 
which  had  been  her  daily  portion  for  the  last 
thirteen  years.  Bridget  would  go  with  the  family. 
She  would  do  her  own  cooking,  and  not  eat  at  all 
if  she  did  not  wish.  Her  clothes  could  fall  into 
rags,  and  her  hands  look  through  every  finger  of 


40  Hermia  Suydam. 

her  gloves.  She  would  read  and  dream  and  for- 
get that  the  material  world  existed. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning  when  Her- 
mia found  herself  alone.  She  had  gone  with  the 
family  to  Jersey,  and  had  remained  until  they  were 
settled.  Now  the  world  was  her  own.  AVhen  she 
returned  to  the  flat,  she  threw  her  things  on  the 
floor,  pushed  the  parlor  furniture  awry,  turned  the 
framed  photographs  to  the  wall,  and  hid  the 
worsted  tidies  under  the  sofa. 

For  two  months  she  was  well  content.  She 
reveled  in  her  loneliness,  in  the  voiceless  rooms, 
the  deserted  table,  the  aimless  hours,  the  forgotten 
past,  the  will-painted  present.  She  regarded  the 
post-man  as  her  natural  enemy,  and  gave  him 
orders  not  to  ring  her  bell.  Once  a  week  she 
took  her  letters  from  the  box  and  devoted  a  half- 
hour  to  correspondence.  She  had  a  hammock 
swung  in  one  of  the  rooms,  and  dreamed  half  the 
night  through  that  she  was  in  the  hanging  gardens 
of  Semiramis.  The  darkness  alone  was  between 
her  and  the  heavens  thick  with  starry  gods  ;  and 
below  was  the  heavy  perfume  of  oranges  and  lotus 
flowers.  There  was  music — soft — crashing — woo- 
ing her  to  a  scene  of  bewildering  light  and  mad 
carousal.  There  was  rapture  of  power  and  ecstasy 
of  love.  She  had  but  to  fling  aside  the  cur- 
tains— to  fly  down  the  corridor — 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Hermia's  imagina- 
tion was  faithful  to  the  Orient.     Her  nature  had 


Hermia  Suydam.  41 

great  sensuous  breadth  and  wells  of  passion  which 
penetrated  far  down  into  the  deep,  hard  sub- 
stratum of  New  England  rock  ;  but  her  dreams 
were  apt  to  be  inspired  by  what  she  had  read  last. 
She  loved  the  barbarous,  sensuous,  Oriental  past, 
but  she  equally  loved  the  lore  which  told  of  the 
rugged  strength  and  brutal  sincerity  of  mediaeval 
days,  when  man  turned  his  thoughts  to  love  and  war 
and  naught  besides  ;  when  the  strongest  won  the 
woman  he  wanted  by  murder  and  force,  and  the 
woman  loved  him  the  better  for  doing  it.  Her- 
mia would  have  gloried  in  the  breathless  uncer- 
tainty of  those  days,  when  death  and  love  went 
hand-in-hand,  and  every  kiss  was  bought  with  the 
swing  of  a  battle-axe.  She  would  have  liked  to 
be  locked  in  her  tower  by  her  feudal  father, 
and  to  have  thrown  down  a  rope-ladder  to  her 
lover  at  night.  Other  periods  of  history  at  times 
demanded  her,  and  she  had  a  great  many  fa- 
mous lovers  :  Bolingbroke  and  Mirabeau,  Napo- 
leon and  Aaron  Burr,  Skobeleff  and  Cavour,  a 
motley  throng  who  bore  a  strong  racial  resemblance 
to  one  another  when  roasting  in  the  furnace  of 
her  super-heated  imagination. 

Again,  there  were  times  when  love  played  but  a 
small  part  in  her  visions.  She  was  one  of  the 
queens  of  that  world  to  which  she  had  been  born,  a 
world  whose  mountains  were  of  cold  brown  stone, 
and  in  whose  few  and  narrow  currents  drifted 
stately  maidens  in  stiff,  white  collars  and  tailor- 


42  Hermia  Suydam. 

made  gowns.  She  should  be  one  of  that  select 
band.  It  was  her  birthright  ;  and  each  instinct  of 
power  and  fastidiousness,  caste  and  exclusiveness, 
flourished  as  greenly  within  her  as  if  those  currents 
had  swept  their  roots  during  every  year  of  her 
life's  twenty-four.  When  ambition  sank  down, 
gasping  for  breath,  love  would  come  forward  eager 
and  warm,  a  halo  enveloped  the  brown-stone 
front,  and  through  the  plate-glass  and  silken  cur- 
tains shone  the  sun  of  paradise. 

For  a  few  weeks  the  charm  of  solitude  retained 
its  edge.  Then,  gradually,  the  restlessness  of 
Hermia's  nature  awoke  after  its  sleep  and  clamored 
for  recognition.  She  grew  to  hate  the  monotony 
of  her  own  society  as  she  had  that  of  her  little 
circle.  She  came  to  dread  the  silence  of  the 
house  ;  it  seemed  to  close  down  upon  her,  oppress- 
ing, stifling,  until  she  would  put  her  hand  to  her 
throat  and  gasp  for  breath.  Sometimes  she  would 
scream  at  every  noise  ;  her  nerves  became  so  un- 
strung that  sleep  was  a  visitor  who  rarely  remem- 
bered her.  Once,  thinking  she  needed  change  of 
scene,  she  went  to  Jersey.  She  returned  the  next 
morning.  The  interruption  of  the  habit  of  years, 
the  absolute  change  of  the  past  few  months  made 
it  impossible  to  take  up  again  the  strings  of  her  old 
life.  They  had  snapped  forever,  and  the  tension 
had  been  too  tight  to  permit  a  knot.  She  could 
go  down  to  the  river,  but  not  back  to  the  exist- 
ence of  the  past  thirteen  years. 


Hermia  Suydam.  43 

For  a  week  after  her  return  from  Jersey  she  felt 
as  if  she  were  going  mad.  Life  seemed  to  have 
stopped  ;  the  future  was  a  blank  sheet.  Try  to 
write  on  it  as  she  would,  the  characters  took  neither 
form  nor  color.  To  go  and  live  alone  would  mean 
no  more  than  the  change  from  her  sister's  flat  to  a 
bare-v/alled  room  ;  to  remain  in  her  present  con- 
ditions was  unthinkable.  She  had  neither  the 
money  nor  the  beauty  to  accumulate  interests  in 
life.  Books  ceased  to  interest  her,  imagination 
failed  her.  She  tried  to  write,  but  passion  was 
dead,  and  the  blood  throbbed  in  her  head  and 
drowned  words  and  ideas.  She  had  come  to  the 
edge  of  life,  and  at  her  feet  swept  the  river — in  its 
depths  were  peace  and  oblivion — eternal  rest — 
a  long,  cool  night — the  things  which  crawl  in  the 
deep  would  suck  the  blood  from  her  head — a  claw 
with  muscles  of  steel  would  wrench  the  brain 
from  her  skull  and  carry  it  far,  far,  where  she 
could  feel  it  throb  and  jump  and  ache  no  more — 

And  then,  one  day,  John  Suydam  died  and  left 
her  a  million  dollars. 


44  Her  mi  a  Suydam. 


CHAPTER    VI. 
suydam's  legacy  and  hermia's  will. 

Hermia  attended  her  uncle's  funeral  because 
Frank  came  over  and  insisted  upon  it  ;  and  she  and 
her  brother-in-law  were  the  only  mourners.  But 
few  people  were  in  the  church,  a  circumstance 
which  Hermia  remembered  later  with  gratitude. 
The  Suydams  had  lived  on  Second  Avenue  since 
Second  Avenue  had  boasted  a  brick  or  brown- 
stone  front,  but  no  one  cared  to  assume  a  respect 
he  did  not  feel.  Among  the  tablets  which 
graced  the  interior  of  St.  Mark's  was  one  erected 
to  the  dead  man's  father,  who  had  left  many 
shekels  to  the  diocese  ;  but  John  Suydam  was 
lowered  into  the  family  vault  with  nothing  to 
perpetuate  his  memory  but  his  name  and  the 
dates  of  his  birth  and  death  engraved  on  the 
silver  plate  of  his  coffin. 

Hermia  took  no  interest  in  her  uncle's  death  ; 
she  was  even  past  the  regret  that  she  would  be 
the  poorer  by  twenty-five  dollars  a  year.  When 
she  received  the  letter  from  Suydam's  lawyer,  in- 
forming her  that  she  was  heiress  to  a  million  dol- 
lars, her  hands  shook  for  an  hour. 


Hermia  Suydam.  45 

At  first  she  was  too  excited  to  think  con- 
nectedly. She  went  out  and  took  a  long  walk, 
and  physical  fatigue  conquered  her  nerves.  She 
returned  home  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her 
bed  and  thought  it  all  out.  The  world  was  under 
her  feet  at  last.  With  such  a  fortune  she  could 
materialize  every  dream  of  her  life.  She  would 
claim  her  place  in  society  here,  then  go  abroad,  and 
in  the  old  world  forget  the  Nineteenth  Century. 
She  would  have  a  house,  each  of  whose  rooms 
should  be  the  embodiment  of  one  of  that  strange 
medley  of  castles  she  had  built  in  the  land  of  her 
dreams.  And  men  would  love  her — she  was  free 
to  love  in  fact  instead  of  in  fancy — free  to  go  forth 
and  in  the  crowded  drawing-rooms  of  that  world 
not  a  bird's  flight  away  find  the  lover  whose 
glance  would  be  recognition. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  her  arms 
above  her  head.  New  life  seemed  to  have  been 
poured  into  her  veins,  and  it  coursed  through  them 
like  quicksilver ;  she  i€^X.  yoimg  for  the  first  time  in 
the  twenty-four  centuries  of  her  life.  She  dropped 
her  arms  and  closed  her  hand  slowly  ;  the  world 
was  in  the  palm.  She  smiled  and  let  her  head 
drop  back.  She  moved  it  slowly  on  the  pivot  of 
her  throat.     Her  eyes  met  the  glass. 

The  cry  of  horror  which  burst  from  her  lips 
rang  through  the  room.  For  this  girl  had  lived 
so  long  and  so  consistently  in  her  imagination 
that  it  was  rarely  she  remembered  she  was  not  a 


46  Hermia  Suydam. 

beautiful  woman.  During  the  past  hours  she 
had  slowly  grasped  the  fact  that,  as  with  the 
stroke  of  a  magician's  wand,  her  dream-estates 
had  been  hardened  from  shadow  into  substance  ; 
it  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  the  gift  most  cov- 
eted was  the  one  gift  withheld. 

She  sank  in  a  heap  on  the  bed,  all  spirit  and 
hope  gone  out  of  her.  For  many  minutes  she 
remained  motionless.  Then  she  slowly  straight- 
ened herself  until  she  was  erect  once  more,  and 
in  her  face  grew  a  look  of  hope  fighting  down 
doubt.  In  a  moment  hope  triumphed,  then  gave 
way  to  determination,  which  in  turn  yielded  to 
defiance.  She  sprang  forward  and  with  her 
clenched  hand  shattered  her  mirror  into  a  star  with 
a  thousand  points. 

"I  will  be  beautiful  !  "  she  cried  aloud,  '"  and 
I  will  never  look  into  a  glass  again  until  I  am." 


Hermia  Suydam.  47 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    HEROINE    IN    TRAINING. 

The  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars  over  John 
Suydam's  million  had  been  left  to  Bessie.  She 
immediately  bought  a  charming  house  on  St. 
Mark's  Avenue — it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  leave 
her  beloved  Brooklyn — and  Hermia  furnished  it 
for  her  and  told  her  that  she  would  educate  the 
children.  Hermia  did  not  divide  her  fortune  with 
her  sister.  She  kept  her  hundred  thousands,  not 
because  gold  had  made  her  niggardly,  but  because 
she  wanted  the  power  that  a  fortune  gives. 

The  old  Suydam  house  was  one  of  the  largest 
of  its  kind  in  New  York.  Exteriorly  it  was  of 
red  brick  v/ith  brown-stone  trimmings,  and  about 
the  lower  window  was  a  heavy  iron  balcony. 
Beneath  the  window  was  a  square  of  lawn  the 
size  of  a  small  kitchen  table,  which  was  carefully 
protected  by  a  high,  spiked  iron  railing. 

Hermia  put  the  house  at  once  in  the  hands  of 
a  famous  designer  and  decorator,  but  allowed 
him  no  license.  Her  orders  were  to  be  followed 
to  the  letter.  The  large,  single  drawing-room 
was  to  be  Babylonian.     The  library  just  behind, 


48  Hermia  Suydam. 

and  the  dining-room  in  the  extension  were  to  look 
like  the  rooms  of  a  feudal  castle.  The  large  hall 
should  suggest  a  cathedral.  Above,  her  boudoir 
and  bed-room  was  to  be  a  scene  from  the  Ara- 
bian Nights.  A  conservatory,  to  be  built  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  would  be  a  jungle  of  India. 

The  house  was  to  be  as  nearly  finished  as  pos- 
sible by  the  beginning  of  winter.  She  wrote  to 
her  mother's  sister,  Miss  Huldah  Starbruck,  a 
lady  who  had  passed  fifty  peaceful  years  in  Nan- 
tucket, and  asked  her  to  come  and  live  with  her. 
Miss  Starbruck  promised  to  come  early  in  Decem- 
ber, and  then,  all  other  points  settled,  Hermia 
gave  her  attention  to  the  momentous  question  of 
her  undeveloped  beauty. 

She  went  to  a  fashionable  physician  and  had  a 
long  interview  with  him.  The  next  day  he  sent 
her  a  trained  and  athletic  nurse,  a  pleasant, 
placid-looking  young  woman,  named  Mary  New- 
ton. Miss  Newton,  who  had  received  orders  to 
put  Hermia  into  a  perfect  state  of  health,  and 
who  was  given  carte  blanche,  telegraphed  for  a 
cottage  on  the  south  shore  of  Long  Island.  She 
had  a  room  fitted  up  as  a  gymnasium,  and  for 
the  next  four  months  Hermia  obeyed  her  lightest 
mandate  upon  all  questions  of  diet  and  exercise. 
Once  a  week  Hermia  went  to  town  and  divided 
the  day  between  the  house-decorators  and  a  hair- 
dresser who  had  engaged  to  develop  the  color  in 
her  lusterless  locks. 


Her7nia  Siiydam.  49 

On  the  first  of  December,  Miss  Newton  told 
her  that  no  girl  had  ever  been  in  more  superb  con- 
dition ;  and  Hermia,  who  had  kept  her  vow  and 
not  yet  looked  in  a  mirror,  was  content  to  take 
her  word,  and  both  returned  to  town. 
4 


50  Hermia  Suydam, 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

HERMIA    DISCOVERS    HERSELF. 

Had  Hermia  been  a  bride  on  her  wedding- 
night  she  could  not  have  felt  more  trepidation 
than  when  she  stood  on  the  threshold  of  her  first 
interview  with  her  new  self.  She  was  to  meet  a 
strange,  potent  being,  who  would  unlock  for  her 
those  doors  against  which,  with  fierce,  futile  long- 
ing, she  had  been  wont  to  cast  herself,  since 
woman's  instinct  had  burst  its  germ. 

She  entered  her  bedroom  and  locked  the  door. 
But  she  did  not  go  to  the  mirror  at  once  ;  she  was 
loath  to  relinquish  pleasurable  uncertainty.  She 
sank  on  a  rug  before  the  hearth  and  locked  her 
hands  about  her  knee  in  the  attitude  which  had 
been  a  habit  from  childhood.  For  a  few  moments 
she  sat  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  room,  the  suc- 
cessful embodiment  of  one  of  her  dearest  dreams. 
The  inlaid  floor  was  thick  with  rugs  that  had  been 
woven  in  the  looms  of  the  Orient.  The  walls  v.ere 
hung  with  cloth  of  gold,  and  the  ceiling  was  a 
splendid  picture  of  Nautch  girls  dancing  in  the 
pleasure  palace  of  an  Indian  prince.  The  bed, 
enameled  to  represent  ivory,  stood  on  a  dais  over 


Hermia  Suydam.  ej 

which  trailed  a  wonderful  Hindoo  shawl.  Over 
the  couches  and  divans  were  flung  rich  stuffs 
feathered  rugs,  and  odd  strips  of  Indian  conceits! 
The  sleeping-room  was  separated  from  the  bou- 
doir by  a  row  of  pillars,  and  from  the  unseen  apart- 
ment came  the  smell  of  burning  incense. 

Hermia  leaned  back  against  a  pile  of  cushions, 
and,  clasping  her  hands  behind  lier  head,  gazed 
about  her   with   half-closed   eyes.     There  was   a 
sense  of  familiarity  about  it  all  that  cast  a  shadow 
over  her  content.     It  was  a  remarkably  close  re- 
production of  an  ideal,  considering  that  the  ideal 
had  been  filtered  through  the  practical  brain  of  a 
nineteenth  century  decorator— but  therein  lay  the 
sting.     She   had  dreamed  of    this  room,  lived  in 
it  ;  it  was  as  familiar  as  Bessie's  parlor  in  Brook- 
lyn,  with  its  tidies  and  what-nots  ;  it  wanted  the 
charm  of  novelty.     She  had  a  protesting  sense  of 
being  defrauded  ;  it  was  all  very  well  to  realize 
one's  imaginings,  but  how  much   sweeter  if  some 
foreign  hand  had  cunningly  woven  details  within 
and    glamour   above,    of   which    she    had    never 
dreamed.     The  supreme  delight  of   atmospheric 
architecture  is  the  vague,  abiding  sense  that  high 
on  the  pinnacle  we  have  reared,  and  which  has 
shot   above  vision's   range,   is  a   luminous    apex, 
divine  in  color,  wondrous  in  form,  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp  fluttering  in  the  clouds  of  imagination. 

Hermia    sighed,    but   shrugged    her    shoulders. 
Had  not  life  taught  her  philosophy  ? 


52  Hermia  Suydam. 

Where  the  gold-stuffs  parted  on  the  wall  oppo- 
site the  pillars,  a  mirror,  ivory-framed,  reached 
from  floor  to  ceiling.  Hermia  rose  and  walked  a 
few  steps  toward  the  glass  without  daring  to 
raise  her  eyes.  Then  with  a  little  cry  she  ran  to 
the  lamps  and  turned  them  out.  She  flung  off 
her  clothes,  threw  the  lace  thing  she  called  her 
night-gown  over  her  head,  and  jumped  into  bed. 
She  pulled  the  covers  over  her  face,  and  for  ten 
minutes  lay  and  reviled  herself.  Then,  with  an 
impatient  and  audible  exclamation  at  her  coward- 
ice, she  got  up  and  lit  every  lamp  in  the  room. 

She  walked  over  to  the  mirror  and  looked  long 
at  herself,  fearfully  at  first,  then  gravely,  at  last 
smilingly.  She  was  beautiful,  because  she  was 
unique.  Her  victory  was  the  more  assured  be- 
cause her  beauty  would  be  the  subject  of  many  a 
dispute.  She  had  not  the  delicate  features  and 
conventional  coloring  that  women  admire,  but  a 
certain  stormy,  reckless  originality  which  would 
appeal  swiftly  and  directly  to  variety-loving  man. 
Her  eyes,  clear  and  brilliant  as  they  had  once 
been  dull  and  cold,  were  deep  and  green  as  the 
sea.  Her  hair,  which  lay  in  a  wiry  cloud  about 
her  head  and  swept  her  brows,  was  a  shining  mass 
of  brazen  threads.  Her  complexion  had  acquired 
the  clear  tint  of  ivory  and  was  stained  with  the 
rich  hue  of  health.  The  very  expression  of  her 
face  had  changed  ;  the  hard,  dogged,  indifferent 
look  had  fled.     With  hope  and  health  and  wishes 


Herviia  Suydam.  53 

gratified  had  come  the  lifting  and  banishment  of 
tlie  old  mask — that  crystallization  of  her  spirit's 
discontent.  Yes,  she  was  a  beautiful  woman. 
She  might  not  have  a  correct  profile  or  a  soft 
roundness  of  face,  but  she  was  a  beautiful  woman. 

She  pinched  her  cheek  ;  it  was  firm  and  elastic. 
She  put  her  hands  about  her  throat ;  it  rose  from 
its  lace  nest,  round  and  polished  as  an  ivory  pil- 
lar. She  slipped  the  night-gown  from  her  shoul- 
ders ;  the  line  of  the  back  of  her  head  and  neck 
was  beautiful  to  see,  and  a  crisp,  waved  strand  of 
shorter  hair  that  had  fallen  from  its  place  looked 
like  a  piece  of  gold  filigree  on  an  Indian  vase. 
Her  shoulders  did  not  slope,  but  they  might  have 
been  covered  with  thickest  satin.  She  raised  one 
arm  and  curved  it  slowly,  then  let  it  hang  straight 
at  her  side.  She  must  always  have  had  a  well- 
shaped  arm,  for  it  tapered  from  shoulder  to  wrist : 
but  health  and  care  alone  could  give  the  trans- 
parent brilliancy  and  flawless  surface. 

Hermia  gazed  long  at  herself.  She  swayed  her 
beautiful  body  until  it  looked  like  a  reed  in  an 
Indian  swamp,  blown  by  a  midnight  breeze.  It 
was  as  lithe  and  limber  as  young  bamboo.  She 
drew  the  pins  from  her  hair.  It  fell  about  her 
like  a  million  infinitesimal  tongues  of  living  flame, 
and  through  them  her  green  eyes  shone  and  her 
white  skin  gleamed. 

Tossing  her  hair  back  she  sprang  forward  and 
kissed  her  reflection  in  the  glass,  a  long,  greeting, 


54  Hermia  Siiydam. 

grateful  kiss,  and  her  eyes  blazed  with  passionate 
rapture.  Then  she  slowly  raised  her  arms  above 
her  head,  every  pulse  throbbing  with  delicious 
exultation,  every  nerve  leaping  with  triumph  and 
hope,  every  artery  a  river  of  tumultuous,  victori- 
ous, springing  life. 


Hertnia  Suydam.  55 


CHAPTER    IX. 

HELEN    SIMMS. 

A  YEAR  later  Hermia  was  sitting  by  her  library 
fire  one  afternoon  when  the  butler  threw  back  the 
tapestry  that  hung  over  the  door  and  announced 
Helen  Simms.  Hermia  rose  to  greet  her  visitor 
with  an  exclamation  of  pleasure  that  had  in  it  an 
accent  of  relief.  She  had  adopted  Helen  Simms 
as  the  friend  of  her  new  self  ;  as  yet,  but  one  knew 
the  old  Hermia.  Helen  was  so  essentially  mod- 
ern and  practical  that  restless  longings  and  ro- 
mantic imaginings  fled  at  her  approach. 

Miss  Simms,  as  she  entered  the  room,  her 
cheeks  flushed  by  the  wind,  and  a  snow-flake  on 
her  turban,  was  a  charming  specimen  of  her  kind. 
She  had  a  tall,  trim,  slender  figure,  clad  in  sleek 
cloth,  and  carried  with  soldierly  uprightness.  Her 
small  head  was  loftily  and  unaffectedly  poised,  her 
brown  hair  vv^as  drawn  up  under  her  quiet  little 
hat  with  smoothness  and  precision,  and  a  light, 
severe  fluff  adorned  her  forehead.  She  had 
no  beauty,  but  she  had  the  clean,  clear,  smooth, 
red-and-ivory  complexion  of  the  New  York  girl, 
and   her  teeth  were   perfect.     She  looked  like  a 


56  Her  mi  a  Suydam. 

thoroughbred,  splendidly-groomed  young  grey- 
hound, and  was  a  glowing  sample  of  the  virtues 
of  exercise,  luxurious  living,  and  the  refinement 
of  two  or  three  generations. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  moping  here  all  by 
yourself?"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  swift  smile 
which  gave  a  momentary  flash  of  teeth.  "  You 
were  to  have  met  me  at  Madame  Lefarge's,  to 
have  tried  on  your  new  gown.  I  waited  for  you  a 
half-hour,  and  in  a  beastly  cold  room  at  that." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  Hermia,  with  sud- 
den contrition,  ''  but  I  forgot  all  about  it — I  may 
as  well  tell  the  bald  trutli.  But  I  am  glad  to  see 
you.     I  am  blue." 

Helen  took  an  upright  chair  opposite  Hermia's, 
and  lightly  leaned  upon  her  umbrella  as  if  it  were 
a  staff.  "  I  should  think  you  would  be  blue  in 
this  '  gray  ancestral  room,'  "  she  said.  "  It  looks 
as  if  unnumbered  state  conspiracies  and  intrigues 
against  unhappy  Duncans  had  been  concocted  in 
it.  I  do  not  deny  that  it  is  all  very  charming,  but 
I  never  come  into  it  without  a  shiver  and  a  side- 
glance  at  the  dark  corners." 

She  looked  about  her  with  a  smile  which  had 
little  fear  in  it. 

"  These  stern  gray  walls  and  that  vaulted  ceil- 
ing carry  you  out  of  Second  Avenue,  I  admit ; 
and  those  stained-glass  windows  and  all  that  tap- 
estry and  antique  furniture  waft  me  back  to  the 
days  of  my  struggles  with  somebody  or   other's 


Her^nia  Siiydam.  ^y 

history  of  England.  But,  Hermia  mia,  I  think  it 
would  be  good  for  you  to  have  a  modern  drawing- 
room  in  your  house,  and  to  sit  in  it  occasionally. 
It  is  this  semblance  of  past  romance  which  makes 
you  discontented  with  the  world  as  you  find  it." 
Hermia  gave  a  sigh.  "  I  know,"  she  said, ''  but 
I  can't  help  it.  I  am  tired  of  everything.  I  dread 
the  thought  of  another  winter  exactly  like  last. 
The  same  men,  same  receptions,  same  compli- 
ments, same  everything." 

"  My  dear,  you  are  blase.  I  have  been  expect- 
ing it.  It  follows  on  the  heels  of  the  first  season, 
as  delicate  eyes  follow  scarlet  fever.  The  eyes  get 
well,  and  so  will  you.  Five  years  from  now  you 
will  not  be  as  blase  as  you  are  this  moment. 
Look  at  me.  I  have  been  out  four  years.  I  was 
blase  three  years  ago,  but  to-day  I  could  not  live 
without  society  and  its  thousand  little  excitements. 
See  what  you  have  to  look  forward  to!  " 

Hermia  smiled.  "  You  certainly  are  a  shining 
example  of  patience  and  fortitude,  but  I  fear  you 
have  something  in  you  which  I  lack.  I  shall  grow 
more  and  more  bored  and  discontented.  Three 
years  of  this  would  kill  me.  I  wish  I  could  go  to 
Europe,  but  Aunt  Frances  cannot  go  yet,  and  I 
don't  care  to  go  alone  the  first  time,  for  I  want 
to  see  the  society  of  the  different  capitals.  After 
that  I  shall  go  to  Europe  by  myself.  But  in  the 
mean  time  what  am  I  to  do  ? " 

"  Have    a    desperate    flirtation  ;    I    mean,    of 


58  Henri  ill   Si/ydam. 

course,  a  prolonged  one.  Heaven  knows  you 
are  the  most  fearful  flirt  in  New  York — while 
it  lasts.  Only  it  never  lasts  more  than  a  week 
and  a  day." 

"  I  am  not  a  flirt,"  said  Hermia.  "  I  have  not 
fhe  first  essential  of  a  flirt — patience.  I  have 
been  simply  trying  with  all  my  might  to  fall  in 
love.  And  I  cannot  have  a  prolonged  flirtation 
with  a  man  who  disappoints  me." 

"  My  dear,  as  a  veteran,  let  me  advise  you.  So' 
long  as  you  keep  up  this  hunt  for  the  ideal  you 
will  be  bored  by  everything  and  everybody  in 
actual  life.  All  this  sentiment  and  romance  and 
imagination  of  you  is  are  very  charming,  and 
when  I  recall  the  occasions  wherein  you  have 
kept  me  awake  until  two  in  the  morning,  I  for- 
give you,  because  I  found  you  quite  as  entertain- 
ing as  a  novel.  But  it  is  only  spoiling  you  for  the 
real  pleasures  of  life.  You  must  be  more  philo- 
sophical. If  you  can't  find  your  ideal,  make  up 
your  mind  to  be  satisfied  with  the  best  you  can 
get.  There  are  dozens  of  charming  men  in  New 
York,  and  you  meet  them  every  week.  They  may 
not  be  romantic,  they  may  look  better  in  evening 
clothes  than  in  a  tin  hat  and  leather  legs,  but 
they  are  quite  too  fascinating  for  all  that.  Just 
put  your  imagination  to  some  practical  use,  and 
fancy  yourself  in  love  with  one  of  them  for  a 
month.     After  that  it  will  be  quite  easy." 

"  I  can't  !  "  exclaimed  Hermia  emphatically,  as 


\ 


Hermia  Suydam.  59 

she  turned  to  pour  out  the  tea  the  butler  had* 
brought  in.  "  I  get  everything  they  know  out  of 
them  in  three  interviews,  and  then  we've  nothing 
left  to  talk  about." 

Helen  removed  her  glove  from  her  white  hand 
with  its  flashing  rings,  and,  changing  her  seat  to 
one  nearer  the  table,  took  up  a  thin  slice  of  bread- 
and-butter.  "  Is  it  five  o'clock  already  ? "  she 
said.  "  I  must  run.  I  have  a  dinner  to-night,  the 
opera,  and  two  balls."  She  nibbled  her  bread 
and  sipped  her  tea  as  if  the  resolution  to  run  had 
satisfied  her  conscience.  "  Shall  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  have  twice  as  many  part- 
ners as  myself  ?  " 

''  No  ;  I  am  not  going  out  to-night.  You 
know  I  draw  the  line  at  three  times  a  week,  and  I 
have  already  touched  the  limit." 

"  Quite  right.  You  will  be  beautiful  as  long  as 
you  live.  Between  Miss  Newton,  three  nights' 
sleep  a  week,  and  a  large  Avaist,  you  will  be 
quoted  to  your  grandchildren  as  a  nineteenth- 
century  Ninon  de  I'Enclos.  But,  to  return  to  the 
truffles  we  were  discussing  before  the  tea  came  in 
— another  trouble  is  that  you  are  too  appallingly 
clever  for  the  '  infants.'  Why  do  you  not  go  into 
the  literary  set  and  find  an  author  ?  All  I  have 
ever  known  are  fearful  bores,  but  they  might  suit 
you."  She  put  down  her  tea-cup.  "  I  have  it  !  " 
she  exclaimed  ;  "  Ogden  Cryder  has  just  come 
back  from  Europe,  and   I  am  positive  that  he  is 


6o  Hermia  Suydam. 

the  man  you  have  been  waiting  for.  You  must 
meet  him.  I  met  him  two  or  three  years  ago, 
and  really,  for  a  literary  man,  he  was  quite  charm- 
ing.    Awfully  good-looking,  too." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  dialect  fiends,  is  he  not  t " 
asked  Hermia,  languidly,  "  It  is  rather  awkward 
meeting  an  author  whose  books  you  haven't  read, 
and  I  simply  cannot  read  dialect." 

"  Oh !  get  one  or  two  and  skim  them.  The 
thread  of  the  story  is  all  you  want  ;  then  you  can 
discuss  the  heroine  with  him,  and  insist  that  she 
ought  to  have  done  the  thing  he  did  not  make 
her  do.  That  will  flatter  him  and  give  you  a 
subject  to  start  off  with.  An  author  scares  me  to 
death,  and,  upon  the  rare  occasions  when  I  meet 
one,  I  always  fly  at  him  with  some  reproach  about 
the  cruel  way  in  which  he  treated  the  heroine,  or 
ask  him  breathlessly  \.o  please  tell  me  whether  she 
and  the  hero  are  ever  going  to  get  out  of  their 
difficulties  or  are  to  remain  plante  la  for  the  rest 
of  their  lives.  This  works  off  the  embarrassment, 
you  see,  and  after  that  we  talk  about  Mrs.  Blank's 
best  young  man." 

Hermia  smiled.  It  was  difficult  to  imagine 
Miss  Simms  frightened,  breathless,  or  embarrassed. 
She  looked  as  if  emotion  had  not  stirred  her  since 
the  days  when  she  had  shrieked  in  baby  wrath 
because  she  could  not  get  her  chubby  toes  into 
her  toothless  mouth. 

"  Ogden  Cryder  might  at  least  have  something 


Hermia  Suydam.  6i 

\o  talk  about,"  Hermia  answered.  ''  Perhaps  it 
would  be  worth  while." 

"  It  would,  my  dear.  I  am  convinced  that  he 
is  the  man,  and  I  know  where  you  can  meet  him. 
Papa  has  tickets  for  the  next  meeting  of  the  Club 
of  Free  Discussion,  and  I  will  tell  him  to  take  you. 
He  knows  Mr.  Cryder,  and  shall  have  strict 
orders  to  introduce  you.  What  is  more,  you  will 
have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  lion  roar  for  an 
hour  before  you  meet  him.  He  is  to  give  the 
lecture  of  the  evening." 

''Well,"  said  Hermia,  ''I  shall  be  glad  to  go,  if 
your  father  will  be  good  enough  to  take  me. 
Which  of  Cryder's  books  shall  I  read  up  ?  " 

"  '  Cornfield  Yarns  '  and  '  How  Uncle  Zebediah 
sowed  dat  Cotton  Field  '  are  the  ones  everybody 
talks  about  most.  Some  of  the  yarns  are  quite 
sweet,  and  the  papers  say — I  always  read  the  crit- 
icisms, they  give  the  outline  of  the  plot,  and  it 
saves  an  awful  lot  of  trouble — that  Uncle  Zebe- 
diah is  the  most  superb  African  of  modern  fiction. 
Uncle  Tom  has  hidden  his  diminished  head. 
'Unc.  Zeb.,'  as  he  is  familiarly  called,  rolls  forth 
an  amount  of  dialect  to  the  square  inch  which 
none  but  a  Cryder  could  manipulate.  It  is  awful 
work  pulling  through  it,  but  we  all  have  to  work 
for  success  in  this  life." 

She  drew  on  her  long,  loose,  tan-colored  glove, 
pushed  her  bangles  over  it,  then  carefully  tucked 
the  top  under  her  cuff.     ''Well,   addio,  Hermia 


62  Hermia  Suydam. 

mia,"  she  said,  rising ;  "  I  will  send  you  a  note 
to-morrow  morning  and  let  you  know  if  anything 
can  possibly  happen  to  prevent  papa  going  on 
Wednesday  evening.  In  the  mean  time,  make  up 
your  mind  to  be  vanquished  by  Ogden  Cryder. 
He  really  is  enchanting." 


Hermia  Suydam.  63 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  MENTAL  PHOTOGRAPH  GALLERY. 

After  Helen  left,  Hermia  went  up  to  her  room. 
There  she  did  what  she  never  failed  to  do  the 
moment  she  entered  her  bedroom — walked  over 
to  the  glass  and  looked  at  herself.  She  had  not 
even  yet  got  used  to  the  idea  of  her  beauty,  and 
sometimes  approached  the  mirror  with  dread  lest 
her  new  self  should  prove  a  dream.  She  saw 
nothing  to  alarm  her.  A  year's  dissipation  had  not 
impaired  her  looks.  Excitement  and  good  living 
agreed  with  her,  and  Miss  Newton  tyrannized  over 
her  like  the  hygienic  duenna  that  she  was. 

She  sank  down  on  the  floor  before  the  long 
glass,  resting  her  elbow  on  a  cushion.  Her 
crouching  attitude  reminded  her  of  the  women 
whose  lines  had  fallen  in  days  of  barbaric  splen- 
dor. It  is  not  to  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that 
this  effect  was  accidental.  Hermia  had  deter- 
mined, before  she  burst  upon  New  York,  that  her 
peculiar  individuality  should  be  the  suggestion  of 
the  untrammeled  barbarian  held  in  straining  leash 
by  the  requirements  of  civilization.  Her  green 
eyes  and  tawny  hair  were  the  first  requisites,  and 


64  Hermia  Suydafn. 

she  managed  her  pliant  body  with  a  lithe  grace 
which  completed  the  semblance. 

She  wore  to-day  a  tea-gown  of  Louis  XIV. 
brocade  and  lace,  and  she  watched  herself  with 
an  amused  smile.  A  year  and  a  half  ago  her 
wardrobe  had  consisted  of  coarse  serges  and  ging- 
ham aprons. 

She  put  her  head  on  the  cushion,  nestled  her 
body  into  the  feather  rug,  and  in  a  vague,  indolent 
way  let  her  memory  rove  through  the  little  photo- 
graph gallery  in  her  brain  set  apart  for  the  accumu- 
lations of  the  past  twelve  months.  There  were  a 
great  many  photographs  in  that  gallery,  and  their 
shapes  and  dimensions  were  as  diverse  as  their 
subjects.  Some  were  so  large  that  they  swept 
from  floor  to  ceih'ng,  although  their  surface  might 
reflect  but  one  impression  ;  others  were  too  small 
to  catch  the  eye  of  the  casual  observer,  and  the 
imprint  on  them  was  like  one  touch  of  a  water- 
colorist's  brush.  Many  pasteboards  of  medium 
size  v/ere  there  whose  surfaces  were  crowded  like 
an  ant-hill  at  sundown  ;  and  pushed  into  corners 
or  lying  under  a  dust-heap  were  negatives,  un- 
developed and  fading.  At  one  end  of  the  gallery 
was  a  great  square  plate,  and  on  it  there  was  no 
impression  of  any  sort,  nor  ever  had  been. 

Hermia  pushed  up  her  loose  sleeve  and  pressed 
her  face  into  the  warm  bend  of  her  arm.  On  the 
whole,  the  past  year  had  been  almost  satisfactory. 
A  clever    brain,  an    iron   will,  and   a  million  dol- 


Jlennia  Siiydam.  65 

lars  can  do  much,  and  that  much   Hermia's  com- 
bined gifts  had  accomplished. 

She  opened  the  windows  of  her  photograph  gal- 
lery and  dusted  out  the  cobwebs,  then,  beginning 
at  the  top,  sauntered  slowly  down.  She  looked 
at  her  first  appearance  in  the  world  of  fashion. 
It  is  after  the  completion  of  her  winter's  wardrobe 
by  a  bevy  of  famous  tailors,  and  she  wears  a 
gown  of  light-gray  cloth  and  a  tiny  bonnet  of  sil- 
very birds.  The  debut  is  in  St.  Mark's  ;  and  as 
she  walks  up  the  center  aisle  to  the  Suydam  pew, 
her  form  as  straight  as  a  young  sapling,  her  head 
haughtily  yet  nonchalantly  poised,  every  curve 
of  her  glove-fitting  gown  proclaiming  the  hand 
that  cut  it.  Second  Avenue  catches  its  breath, 
raises  its  eyebrows,  and  exchanges  glances  of  well- 
bred,  aristocratic  surprise.  Late  that  week  it 
calls,  and  this  time  is  not  repulsed,  but  goes  away 
enchanted.  It  does  not  take  long  for  the  unseen 
town  crier  to  flit  from  Second  Avenue  to  Fifth, 
and  one  day  his  budget  of  news  sends  a  ripple 
over  the  central  stream.  John  Suydam's  heiress, 
a  beautiful  girl  of  twenty,  with  a  style  all  her  own, 
yet  not  violating  a  law  of  good  form  !  The  old 
red-brick  house  transformed  into  an  enchanted 
palace,  with  a  remarkably  wide-awake  princess, 
and  a  sacrifice  to  modern  proprieties  in  the  shape 
of  a  New  England  aunt  !  How  unusual  and 
romantic  !  yet  all  as  it  should  be.  We  begin  to 
remember  poor  Crosby  Suydam  and  his  charming 
5 


66  Hermia  Suydam. 

young  wife.  We  recall  the  magnificence  of  their 
entertainments  in  the  house  on  lower  Fifth  Avenue 
— now  resplendent  with  a  milliner's  sign.  Both 
dead  ?  How  sad  !  And  to  think  that  John  Suy- 
dam had  a  million  all  the  time  !  The  old  wretch  ! 
But  how  enchanting  that  he  had  the  decency  to 
leave  it  to  this  beautiful  girl  !     We  will  call. 

They  do  call  ;  and  a  distant  relative  of  Her- 
rnia's  father,  Mrs.  Cotton  Dykman,  comes  forward 
with  stately  tread  and  gracious  welcome  and 
offers  her  services  as  social  sponsor.  Hermia 
accepts  the  offer  with  gratitude,  and  places  her 
brougham  at  Mrs.  Dykman's  disposal. 

Mrs.  Dykman  is  a  widow  approaching  fifty,  with 
lagging  steps  yet  haughty  mien.  Her  husband 
omitted  to  leave  her  more  than  a  competence  ; 
but  she  lives  in  Washington  Square  in  a  house 
which  was  her  husband's  grandfather's,  and  holds 
her  head  so  high  and  wears  so  much  old  lace  and 
so  many  family  diamonds  (which  she  hid  in  the 
wall  during  the  late  Cotton's  lifetime)  that  the 
Four  Hundred  have  long  since  got  into  the  habit 
of  forgetting  her  bank  account.  To  her  alone 
does  Hermia  confide  the  secret  of  her  past  exter- 
nal self  and  the  methods  of  reconstruction,  and 
Mrs.  Dykman  respects  her  ever  after. 

In  a  photograph  near  the  head  of  the  gallery 
Hermia  and  Mrs.  Dykman  are  seated  by  the 
library  fire,  and  Hermia  is  discoursing  upon  a  ques- 
tion v.hich  has  given  her  a  good  deal  of  thought 


Hermia  Suydam.  67 

"  I  want  to  be  a  New  York  society  woman  to 
my  finger-tips,"  she  exclaims,  sitting  forward  in 
her  chair;  "  that  is,  I  want  to  be  aic  fait  in  every 
particular.  I  would  not  for  the  world  be  looked 
upon  as  an  alien  ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  want 
to  be  a  distinctive  figure  in  it.  I  want  to  be 
aggressively  7nyself.  The  New  York  girl  is  of  so 
marked  a  type,  Aunt  Frances,  that  you  would 
know  one  if  you  met  her  in  a  Greek  bandit's  cave. 
She  is  unlike  anything  else  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  You  cross  the  river  to  Brooklyn,  you  travel 
an  hour  and  a  half  to  Philadelphia,  you  do  not 
see  a  woman  who  faintly  resembles  her  unless  she 
has  been  imported  direct.  The  New  York  girl 
was  never  included  in  the  scheme  of  creation. 
When  the  combined  forces  of  a  new  civilization 
and  the  seven-leagued  stride  of  democracy  made 
her  a  necessity,  Nature  fashioned  a  mold  differing 
in  shape  and  tint  from  all  others  in  her  store- 
house, and  cast  her  in  it.  It  is  locked  up  in 
a  chest  and  kept  for  her  exclusive  use.  The 
mold  is  made  of  ivory,  and  the  shape  is  long  and 
straight  and  exceeding  slim.  There  is  a  slight 
roundness  about  the  bust,  and  a  general  neatness 
and  trimness  which  are  independent  of  attire. 
And  each  looks  carefully  fed  and  thoroughly 
groomed.  Each  has  brightness  in  her  eye  and 
elasticity  in  her  step.  And  through  the  cheek  of 
each  the  blood  flows  in  exactly  the  same  red  cur- 
rent about  a  little  white  island.     Now  all  this  is 


68  Hermia  Suydam. 

very  charming,  but  then  she  lacks — just  a  little — 
individuality.  And  I  fiiust  have  my  distinctive 
personality.  There  seems  nothing  left  but  to  be 
eccentric.     Tell  me  what  line  to  take." 

Mrs.  Dykman,  who  has  been  listening  with  a 
slight  frown  on  her  brow  and  a  smile  on  her  lips, 
replies  in  her  low,  measured  accents,  which  a 
cataclysm  could  not  accelerate  nor  sharpen  :  "  My 
dear,  before  I  answer  your  amusing  tirade,  let  me 
once  more  endeavor  to  impress  you  with  the  im- 
portance of  repose.  You  may  be  as  beautiful  and 
as  original  as  your  brains  and  will  can  make  you, 
but  without  repose  of  manner  you  will  be  like  an 
unfinished  impressionist  daub.  Few  American 
women  have  it  unless  they  have  lived  in  England  ; 
but  I  want  you  to  take  coals  to  Newcastle  when 
you  make  your  debut  in  London  society. 

"  In  regard  to  the  other  question,"  she  contin- 
ues, "  experience  and  observation  and  thirty  years 
of  that  treadmill  we  call  society  have  taught  me  a 
good  many  things.  One  of  these  things  is  that 
eccentricity  is  the  tacit  acknowledgment  of  lack 
of  individuality.  A  person  with  native  originality 
does  not  feel  the  necessity  of  forcing  it  down  peo- 
ple's throats.  The  world  finds  it  out  soon  enough, 
and  likes  it  in  spite  of  its  own  even  pace  and 
sharply  defined  creeds.  That  is,  always  provided 
the  originality  wears  a  certain  conventional  garb  : 
if  you  would  conquer  the  world,  you  must  blind 
and  humor  it  by  donning  its  own  portable  envel- 


Her  mi  a  Suydam.  69 

ope.  Do  you  understand  what  I  mean,  ray  dear  ? 
You  must  not  startle  people  by  doing  eccentric 
things  ;  you  must  not  get  the  reputation  of  being 
2.  poseuse — it  is  vulgar  and  tiresome.  You  must 
simply  be  quietly  different  from  everybody  else. 
There  is  a  fine  but  decided  line,  my  dear  girl, 
between  eccentricity  and  individuality,  and  you 
must  keep  your  lorgnette  upon  it.  Otherwise, 
people  will  laugh  at  you,  just  as  they  will  be  afraid 
of  you  if  they  discover  that  you  are  clever.  By 
the  way,  you  must  not  forget  that  last  point.  The 
average  American  woman  is  shallow,  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  cleverness.  You  must  be  clever,  with 
an  appearance  of  shallov/ness.  To  the  ordinary 
observer  the  effect  is  precisely  the  same." 

She  rises  to  her  feet  and  adjusts  her  bonnet. 
"  It  is  growing  late  and  I  must  go.  Think  over 
what  I  have  said.  You  have  individuality 
enough  ;  you  need  not  fear  that  people  will  fail 
to  find  it  out  ;  and  you  assuredly  do  not  look  like 
any  one  else  in  New  York." 

Hermia  stands  up  and  gives  Mrs.  Dykman's 
tournure  a  little  twist.  "You  are  a  jewel.  Aunt 
Frances.     What  should  I  do  without  you  ? " 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Dykman  looks  pleased  and 
goes  home  in  Hermia's  brougham. 

Hermia  is  fairly  launched  in  society  about  the 
first  of  January,  and  goes  "  everywhere  "  until  the 
end  of  the  season.  It  gets  to  be  somewhat  mo- 
notonous toward  the  end,  but,  on  the  whole,  she 


70  Hermia  Suydam. 

rather  likes  it.  She  is  what  is  called  a  success  ; 
that  is  to  say,  she  becomes  a  professional  beauty, 
and  is  much  written  about  in  the  society  papers. 
She  receives  a  great  many  flowers,  constant  and 
assiduous  attention  at  balls,  and  her  dancing  is 
much  admired.  She  gets  plenty  of  compliments, 
and  is  much  stared  upon  at  the  opera  and  when 
driving  in  the  park.  Her  reception  days  and 
evenings  are  always  crowded,  and  her  entertain- 
ments— supervised  by  Mrs.  Dykman  and  a  valu- 
able young  man  named  Richard  Winston — are 
pronounced  without  flaw,  and  receive  special 
mention  in  the  dailies. 

And  yet — Hermia  rubbed  her  fingers  thought- 
fully up  and  down  several  of  the  pictures  as  if  to 
make  their  figures  clearer — in  her  heart  she  did 
not  deem  herself  an  unqualified  success.  Men 
ran  after  her — but  because  she  was  the  fashion, 
not  because  they  loved  her. 

During  that  first  winter  and  the  ensuing  season 
at  Newport,  she  had  a  great  many  proposals,  but 
with  two  or  three  exceptions  she  believed  them  to 
have  been  more  or  less  interested.  She  did  not 
seem  to  "  take  "  with  men.  This  had  angered 
her  somewhat ;  she  had  expected  to  conquer  the 
world,  and  she  did  not  like  obstacles. 

She  had  an  odd  and  voluptuous  beauty,  she  had 
brain  and  all  the  advantages  of  unique  and  charm- 
ing surroundings,  and  she  flattered  men  when  she 
remembered  that  it  was  the  thing  to  do.     Was  it 


Herinia  Suyda??!.  71 

because  the  men  felt  rather  than  knew  that  they 
did  not  understand  her  ?  Or  was  it  because  she 
did  not  understand  them  ?  She  was  keenly  aware 
of  her  lack  of  experience,  and  that  her  knowledge 
of  men  was  chiefly  derived  from  books.  And 
wherein  she  was  right  and  wherein  wrong  she 
could  not  tell. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  suppose  ex- 
perience will  come  with  time,"  she  thought,  "and 
I  certainly  have  not  much  to  wish  for — if — only — " 

She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her  head  and 
turned  her  mental  eyeglass  upon  the  unused  plate 
at  the  head  of  the  gallery. 

When  the  news  of  her  good  fortune  had  come, 
her  heart's  first  leap  had  been  toward  the  lover 
who  awaited  her  in  the  world  thrown  at  her  feet. 
That  lover,  that  hero  of  her  dream-world,  she  had 
not  found.  Occasionally  she  had  detected  a 
minor  characteristic  in  some  man,  and  by  it  been 
momentarily  attracted.  In  no  case  had  the 
characteristic  been  supplemented  by  others  ;  and 
after  a  long  and  eager  search  she  had  resigned 
herself  to  the  painful  probability  that  ideals  be- 
longed to  the  realm  of  the  immaterial. 

But,  if  she  had  sighed  farewell  to  the  faithful 
and  much-enduring  hero  of  her  years  of  adversity, 
she  had  by  no  means  relinquished  the  idea  of 
loving.  Few  women  had  ever  tried  more  deter- 
minedly and  more  persistently  to  love,  and  few 
had  met   with   less  success.      She  had  imagined 


72  Hermia  Suydam. 

that  in  a  world  of  men  a  woman's  only  problem 
must  be  whom  to  choose.  It  had  not  taken  her  a 
year  to  discover  that  it  is  easier  to  scratch  the 
earth  from  its  molten  heart  than  to  love. 

She  sprang  to  her  f-^et  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  with  swift,  impatient  steps.  Was  sha 
never  to  be  happy  ?  never  to  know  the  delights  of 
love,  the  warmth  of  a  man's  caress,  the  sudden, 
tumultuous  bursting  from  their  underground  fast- 
ness of  the  mighty  forces  within  her  ?  Was  she 
to  go  through  life  without  living  her  romance, 
without  knowing  the  sweet,  keen  joy  of  hidden 
love  ?  Would  she  end  by  marrying  a  club-room 
epigram  flavored  with  absinthe,  and  settle  down 
to  a  light  or  lurid  variation  on  Bessie's  simple 
little  theme?  She  laughed  aloud.  Perhaps  it 
need  not  be  stated  that  a  year  of  fashionable  life 
had  increased  her  contempt  for  matrimony. 

Was  Ogden  Cryder  the  man  ?  An  author,  yet 
a  man  of  the  world  ;  a  man  of  intellect,  yet  with 
fascination  and  experience  of  women.  It  sounded 
like  !  It  sounded  like  !  Oh  !  if  he  were  !  He 
might  have  flaws.  He  might  be  the  polaric  oppo- 
site of  her  ideal.  Let  him  !  If  he  had  brain  and 
passion,  skill  and  sympathy,  she  would  love  him 
with  every  fiber  of  her  being,  and  thank  him  on 
her  knees  for  compelling  her  so  to  do. 


Hermia  Siiydam.  73 


CHAPTER    XI. 


A    TAILOR-MADE    FATE. 


Helen  Simms  was  a  young  woman  who  had 
cantered  gracefully  under  the  flick  of  society's 
whip  since  the  night  of  her  debut.  Occasionally 
she  broke  into  a  trot,  and  anon  into  a  run.  The 
speedier  locomotion  took  place  on  unworn  by- 
paths ;  when  on  the  broad  highway  she  was  a 
most  sedate  representative  of  her  riding-school. 
At  times  she  had  been  known — to  a  select  few — 
to  kick  ;  and  the  kick  had  invariably  occurred  at 
the  crossing  of  the  highway  and  the  by-path,  and 
just  before  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  forsake 
the  road  for  the  hedges. 

She  had  all  the  virtues  of  her  kind.  On  Sun- 
day mornings  she  attended  St.  Thomas's,  and  after 
service  was  over  walked  home  with  her  favorite 
youth,  whom  she  patronizingly  spoke  of  as  her 
"  infant."  In  the  afternoon  she  entertained 
another  "  infant  "  or  read  a  French  novel.  Nor 
was  her  life  entirely  given  over  to  frivolity.  She 
belonged  to  the  sewing-class  of  her  church,  and 
like  Its  other  members  fulfilled  her  mission  as  a 
quotable  example,  if  she  pricked  her  fingers  sel- 


74  Hermia  Suydam. 

dom  ;  and  once  a  week  she  attended  a  Shakespeare 
"propounding."  She  took  a  great  deal  of  exer- 
cise, skimmed  through  all  the  light  literature  of  the 
day,  including  the  magazines,  and  even  knew  a 
little  science,  just  enough  to  make  the  occasional 
clever  man  she  met  think  her  a  prodigy  as  she 
smiled  up  into  his  face  and  murmured  something 
about  "  the  great  body  of  force  "  or  a  late  experi- 
ment in  telepathy. 

She  had  a  bright  way  of  saying  nothing,  a  cool, 
shrewd  head,  and  an  endless  stock  of  small- talk. 
Both  sexes  approved  of  her  as  a  clever,  charming, 
well-regulated  young  woman — all  of  which  she 
indisputably  was. 

Enthusiasm  had  long  since  been  drilled  out  of  her, 
but  she  had  for  Hermia  an  attachment  very  sincere 
as  far  as  it  went — it  may  be  added  that,  if  there  had 
been  more  of  Miss  Simms,  there  would  have  been 
more  attachment.  It  is  possible  that  Hermia,  with- 
out her  brilliant  position,  would  not  have  attracted 
the  attention  of  Miss  Simms,  but  it  is  only  just  to 
Helen  to  say  that  the  conditions  affected  her  not 
a  whit  ;  she  was  quite  free  from  snobbery. 

She  liked  Hermia  because  she  could  not  under- 
stand her — much  as  she  was  influenced  by  the  sea 
in  a  storm,  or  by  mountains  with  lightning  dart- 
ing about  their  crests.  Whenever  she  entered 
Hermia's  presence  she  always  felt  as  if  the  air  had 
become  suddenly  fresher  ;  and  she  liked  new  sen- 
sations.    She  did  not  in  the  least  resent  the  fact 


Hermia  Sm>da?n.  75 

that  she  could  not  understand  Hermia,  that  her 
chosen  friend  was  intellectually  a  hemisphere 
beyond  her,  and  in  character  infinitely  more  com- 
plex. She  was  pleased  at  her  own  good  taste,  and 
quite  generous  enough  to  admire  where  she  could 
not  emulate. 

She  was  constantly  amused  at  Hermia's  abiding 
and  aggressive  desire  to  fall  in  love,  but  she  was 
by  no  means  unsympathetic.  She  would  have  re- 
garded an  emotional  tumult  in  her  own  being  as  a 
bore,  but  for  Hermia  she  thought  it  quite  the  most 
appropriate  and  advisable  thing.  Once  in  a  while, 
in  a  half-blind  way,  she  came  into  momentary  con- 
tact with  the  supreme  loneliness  and  craving  of 
Hermia's  nature,  and  she  invariably  responded 
with  a  sympathetic  throb  and  a  wish  that  the 
coming  man  would  not  tarry  so  long. 

She  was  so  glad  she  had  thought  of  Cryder. 
She  honestly  believed  him  to  be  the  one  man  of 
all  men  who  could  make  the  happiness  of  her 
friend  ;  and  she  entered  the  ranks  of  the  Fates 
with  the  pleasurable  suspicion  that  she  was  the 
author  of  Hermia's  infinite  good. 

She  surprised  her  father,  the  morning  after  her 
last  interview  with  Hermia,  by  coming  down  to 
breakfast.  She  was  careful  to  let  him  finish  his 
roll  to  the  last  crumb  and  to  read  his  paper  to  the 
acrid  end.  Then  she  went  over  and  put  her 
finger-tips  under  his  chin. 

He  glanced  up  with  a  groan.     "  What  do  you 


76  Hermia  Suydam. 

want  now  ?"  he  demanded,  looking  at  her  over  his 
eye-glasses.  His  periodical  pettings  had  made 
him  cynical. 

*'  Nothing — for  myself.  Did  you  not  say  that 
some  one  had  sent  you  tickets  for  the  next  meet- 
ing of  the  Free  Discussion  ?" 

**  Yes  ;  but  you  can't  have  them  to  give  to  some 
girl  who  would  only  go  to  show  herself,  or  to  some 
boy  whose  thimbleful  of  gray  matter  would  be 
addled  before  the  lecture  was  half  over.  I  am 
going  to  hear  that  lecture  myself." 

"  How  perfectly  enchanting  !  That  is  wliat  I 
wished,  yet  dared  not  hope  for.  And  you  are  not 
only  going  yourself,  but  you  are  going  to  take 
Hermia  Suydam  with  you." 

"  Oh  !  "  Mr.  Simms  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  I 
am  ?  Very  well.  I  am  sure  I  have  no  objection. 
Miss  Suydam  is  the  finest  girl  in  New  York." 

"  Of  course  she  is,  and  she  will  make  a  sensa- 
tion at  the  club  ;  you  will  be  the  envied  of  all 
men.  And  there  is  one  thing  else  you  are  to  do. 
As  soon  as  the  exercises  are  over  I  want  you  to 
present  Ogden  Cryder  to  her.  I  have  particular 
reasons  for  wishing  them  to  meet." 

"  What  are  the  reasons  ?  " 

"  Never  mind.  You  do  as  you  are  told,  and 
ask  no  questions" — this  in  a  tone  which  extracted 
the  sting,  and  was  supplemented  by  a  light  kiss 
on  Mr.  Simms'  smooth  forehead. 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  said  her  father,  obedi- 


Hermia  Suydam.  'j'j 

ently,  "  she  shall  meet  him  ;  remind  me  of  it  just 
before  I  leave.  And  now  I  must  run.  I  have  a 
case  in  court  at  ten  o'clock." 

He  stood  up  and  gave  one  of  his  handsome, 
iron-gray  side-whiskers  an  absent  caress.  He  was 
not  a  particularly  good-looking  man,  but  he  had 
a  keen,  dark  eye,  and  a  square,  heavy  jaw,  in 
both  of  which  features  lay  the  secret  of  his  great 
success  in  his  profession.  He  was  devoted  to 
Helen,  and  had  allowed  her,  with  only  an  occasional 
protest,  to  bring  him  up.  He  could  be  brusque 
and  severe  in  court,  but  in  Helen's  hands  he  was 
a  wax  ball  into  which  she  delighted  to  poke  her 
dainty  fingers. 

Helen  wrote  a  note  to  Hermia,  and  he  took  it 
with  him  to  send  by  an  un winged  Mercury. 

On  Friday  morning  Helen  went  over  to  Second 
Avenue  to  make  sure  that  her  friend  had  not 
changed  her  mind.  She  found  Hermia  in  her 
boudoir,  with  one  of  Cryder's  books  in  her  hand 
and  another  on  a  table  beside  her. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  demanded  Miss 
Simms,  somewhat  anxiously,  as  she  adjusted  her 
steel-bound  self  in  a  pile  of  cushions— straight- 
backed  chairs  in  this  room  there  were  none. 

Hermia  shrugged  her  shoulders:  '' A  decorous 
seasoning  of  passion  ;  a  clear,  delicate  gravy  of 
sentiment;  a  pinch  of  pathos;  a  garnish  of 
analysis  ;  and  a  sohd  roast  of  dialect.  Woe  is 
me  !— I  have  read  two  whole  volumes ;  and  I  pray 


78  Hermia  Suydam. 

that  I  may  like  the  author  better  than  his  books. 
But  he  is  clever  ;  there  is  no  denying  that  !  " 

"  Oh,  horribly  clever  !  What  are  you  going  to 
wear,  to-night  ? " 

"  That  dark-green  velvet  I  showed  you  the 
other  day." 

"Lovely!  And  it  will  match  your  eyes  to  a 
shade.  You  will  look,  as  usual,  as  if  you  had 
just  stepped  out  of  an  old  picture.  Mr.  Cryder 
will  put  you  in  a  book." 

"  If  he  does  I  shall  be  a  modern  picture,  not 
an  old  one.  That  man  could  not  write  a  tale  of 
fifty  years  ago." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you  !  What  you  want 
is  to  fall  in  love  with  a  modern  man,  and  let  him 
teach  you  that  the  mediaeval  was  a  great  animal, 
who  thought  of  nothing  but  what  he  ate  and 
drank.  I  do  not  claim  that  the  species  is  extinct  ; 
but,  at  least,  in  these  days  we  have  a  choice." 


Hermia  Suydam.  79 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    CLUB    OF    FREE    DISCUSSION. 

Hermia  looked  at  her  reflection  that  evening 
with  a  smile.  The  shadowed  emerald  of  her  vel- 
vet gown  made  lier  hair  glow  like  vibrant  flame. 
The  color  wandered  through  her  cheeks  and 
emptied  itself  into  her  lips.  Her  eyes  were  as 
green  as  the  limpid  floor  of  ocean-hollowed  cav- 
erns. Across  her  ivory-white  shoulder  swept  a 
curving  blue  vein,  thin  as  an  infant's  lash,  and  on 
the  rise  of  her  right  breast  were  three  little  moles, 
each  marking  the  corner  of  a  tiny  triangle. 

Mr.  Simms  called  for  her  promptly,  and  when 
they  arrived  at  the  club-rooms  they  strolled  about 
looking  at  the  pictures  and  the  people  until  the 
exercises  began.  There  were  many  literary  and 
artistic  celebrities  present,  all  of  whom  looked 
much  like  ordinary  and  well-bred  people  ;  but  to 
Hermia  there  was  a  luminous  halo  about  each. 
It  was  her  first  experience  in  the  literary  world, 
and  she  felt  as  if  she  had  entered  the  atmosphere 
of  a  dream.  It  was  one  of  her  few  satisfactory 
experiments.  She  was  much  stared  at ;  everybody 
knew  her  by  reputation  if  not  by  sight  ;  and  a 
number  of  men  asked  to  be  presented. 


8o  Hermia  Suydam. 

Among  them  was  Mr.  Overton,  the  editor  who 
had  pubHshed  her  poem  in  his  magazine.  She 
changed  color  as  he  came  up,  but  his  manner  at 
once  assured  her  that  she  was  not  recognized  :  he 
would  have  vindicated  his  fraternity,  indeed,  had 
he  been  keen-sighted  enough  to  recognize  in  this 
triumphant,  radiant  creature  the  plain,  ill-dressed, 
stooping  girl  with  whom  he  had  talked  for  half  an 
hour  at  the  close  of  a  winter's  day  two  years 
before.  Hermia,  of  course,  no  longer  wrote  ;  life 
offered  her  too  many  other  distractions. 

Mr.  Overton  suggested  that  they  should  go  into 
the  lecture-room  and  secure  good  seats.  He 
found  them  chairs  and  took  one  beside  Hermia. 

"  Ogden  Cryder  gives  the  address  to-night,"  he 
said,  after  he  had  satisfied  Hermia's  curiosity  in 
regard  to  the  names  of  a  half-dozen  people.  "  Do 
you  like  his  books  ?" 

'*  Fairly.     Do  you  ?" 

Mr.  Overton  laughed.  "  That  is  rather  a  direct 
question,  considering  that  I  print  one  of  his  stories 
about  every  six  months." 

"  Oh,  you  might  not  like  them.  You  might 
publish  them  out  of  tender  regard  for  the  demands 
of  your  readers." 

Mr.  Overton  had  a  characteristic  American 
face,  thin,  nervous,  shrewd,  pleasant.  He  gave 
Hermia  a  smile  of  unwonted  frankness.  *'  I  will 
confide  to  you,  Miss  Suydam,  that  such  is  the 
case  with  about  two-thirds   I  publish.     I  thank 


Hennia  Suyda?n.  8i 

Heaven  that  I  do  not  have  to  read  a  magazine  as 
well  as  publish  it.  I  have  an  associate  editor 
who  sits  with  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  pub- 
lic, and  relieves  me  of  much  vexation  of  spirit." 

*'  But  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Mr.  Cryder." 

Mr.  Overton  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  He  is  indis- 
putably the  best  dialect  writer  we  have,  and  he  is 
a  charming  exponent  of  surface  passions.  Whether 
he  would  drown  if  he  plunged  below  the  surface 
is  a  question  ;  at  all  events  he  might  become 
improper,  and  morality  pays  in  this  magazine  era. 
There  he  is  now ;  no  doubt  we  shall  have  a 
delightful  address." 

Hermia  turned  her  head  quickly,  but  Cryder 
had  taken  a  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  rostrum,  and 
there  were  many  heads  betv/een  her  own  and  his. 
A  moment  later,  however,  the  president  of  the 
club  made  the  preliminary  remarks,  and  then  gave 
place  to  Cryder. 

Hermia  watched  him  breathlessly  as  he  as- 
cended the  steps  and  stood  beside  the  table,  wait- 
ing for  the  hearty  welcome  to  subside.  Was  it 
he  at  last  ?  He  was  certainly  good  to  look  at  ; 
she  had  never  seen  more  charming  eyes — clear 
golden-hazel,  half  melancholy,  wholly  intelligent. 
His  small,  well-shaped  head  was  thickly  covered 
with  short,  soft,  gold-bro\vn  hair  ;  the  delicate, 
aristocratic  features  were  as  finely  cut  as  those  on 
an  intaglio  ;  and  the  thin,  curved  lips  were 
shaded  by  a  small  mustache.  His  figure,  tall, 
6 


82  Hermia  Suydam. 

light,  graceful,  had  a  certain  vibrating  activity 
even  in  repose.  His  hand  was  white  and  taper- 
ing as  that  of  a  woman,  and  his  auditors  were 
given  opportunity  to  appreciate  it. 

The  subject  of  the  lecture  was  "  The  Dialect 
Element  in  American  Fiction,"  and  Mr.  Cryder 
did  it  justice  in  a  clear,  ringing,  musical  voice. 
He  very  properly  remarked  that  it  was  the  proud 
boast  of  America  that  no  other  country,  ancient 
or  modern,  could  present  such  an  array  of  famous 
dialects,  consequently  no  other  country  had  ever 
had  such  infinite  variety  in  her  literature.  He 
w^ould  say  nothing  of  the  several  hundred  dialects 
as  yet  awaiting  the  Columbus-pen  of  genius  ;  he 
would  merely  speak  of  those  nine  already  discov- 
ered and  immortalized — the  Negro,  the  Yankee, 
the  Southern,  the  Creole,  the  Tennessee  Moun- 
tain, the  Cow-boy,  the  Bret  Harte  Miner,  the 
Hoosier,  and  the  Chinese.  Each  of  these,  although 
springing  from  one  bosom,  namely,  that  of  the 
Great  American  People,  had  as  distinct  an  indi- 
viduality as  if  the  product  of  an  isolated  planet. 
Such  a  feature  was  unique  in  the  history  of  any 
country  or  any  time.  The  various  patois  of  the 
French,  the  provincialisms  of  the  English,  the 
barbarisms  of  the  Scotch,  the  brogue  of  the  Irish, 
were  but  so  many  bad  and  inconsequent  varia- 
tions upon  an  original  theme.  Reflect,  therefore, 
upon  the  immense  importance  of  photographing 
and  preserving  American  neologies  for  the  benefit 


Hennia  Siiydafn.  83 

of  posterity  !  In  the  course  of  time  would  in- 
evitably come  the  homogeneity  of  the  human 
race  ;  the  negro,  for  instance,  would  pervade 
every  corner  of  the  civilized  earth,  and  his  iden- 
tity become  hopelessly  entangled  with  that  of  his 
equally  de-individualized  blonde  brother.  His 
dialect  would  be  a  forgotten  art  !  Contempora- 
ries would  have  no  knowledge  of  it  save  through 
the  painstaking  artists  of  their  ancestors'  time. 
Reflect,  then,  upon  the  heavy  responsibility  which 
lay  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  author  of  to-day. 
Picture  what  must  be  the  condition  of  his  con- 
science at  the  end  of  his  record  if  he  has  failed  to 
do  his  duty  by  the  negro  dialect !  Picture  the 
reproaches  of  future  generations  if  they  should 
be  left  ignorant  of  the  unique  vernacular  of  their 
grandfathers'  serfs  !  (Applause.)  He  did  not  lay 
such  stress  upon  the  superior  importance  of  the 
negro  dialect  because  he  had  enrolled  himself 
among  its  faulty  exponents  ;  he  had  taken  his 
place  in  its  ranks  because  of  that  superior  impor- 
tance. Nevertheless,  he  was  by  no  means  blind 
to  the  virtues  of  those  other  eight  delightful 
strings  in  the  Great  National  Instrument.  No  one 
enjoyed  more  than  he  the  liquid  and  incompre- 
hensible softness  of  the  Creole,  the  penetrating, 
nasonic  strength  of  the  Yankee,  the  delicious 
independence  of  the  Hoosier,  the  pine-sweet, 
redwood-calm  transcriptions  of  the  prose-laureate 
of  the  West.     He  loved  them  all,  and  he  gloried 


84  Her7?iia  Sitydam. 

in  the  literary  monument  of  which  they  were  the 
separate  stones. 

To  do  Mr.  Cryder's  oration  justice  would  be  a 
feat  which  no  modest  novelist  would  attempt. 
Those  who  would  read  that  memorable  speech 
in  its  entirety  and  its  purity  will  find  it  in  the 
archives  of  the  club,  in  the  sixth  volume  of  the 
Sessional  Records.  After  reading  brief  and  pithy 
extracts  from  the  nine  most  famous  dialect  stories 
of  the  day,  he  sat  down  with  the  applause  of 
approval  in  his  ears. 

Hermia  turned  to  Mr.  Overton  :  ^'  He  was  guy- 
ing, I  suppose,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Overton  stared.  "  Certainly  not,"  he  said, 
severely.  "  The  value  of  precisely  rendered  dia- 
lect is  incalculable." 

Hermia,  quite  snubbed,  said  no  more  ;  and  in 
a  few  moments,  Mr.  Duncan,  a  shrewd,  humorous- 
looking  little  Scotchman,  rose  to  reply. 

"  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  say  in  contradic- 
tion to  Mr.  Cryder's  remarks  regarding  the  value 
of  dialect,"  he  said,  looking  about  with  a  bland, 
deprecating  smile.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  have  yet 
another  word  to  add  in  its  favor.  I  hold  that  the 
value  of  dialect  to  the  American  author  has  never 
yet  been  estimated.  When  a  story  has  a  lot  of 
dialect,  you  never  discover  that  it  hasn't  anything 
else.  (Laughter,  and  a  surprised  frown  from 
Cryder.)  Furthermore,  as  America  is  too  young 
to  have  an  imagination,  the  dialect  is  an  admi- 


Herinia  Siiydam.  85 

rable  and  original  substitute  for  plot  and  situa- 
tions." (Laughter  and  mutterings  ;  also  a  scowl 
from  Cryder.)  "  Again,  there  is  nothing  so  diffi- 
cult as  the  handling  of  modern  English  :  it  is  a 
far  speedier  and  easier  road  to  fame  to  manipulate 
a  dialect  familiar  to  only  an  insignificant  section 
of  our  glorious  sixty  millions."  ("Hear,  hear  !  " 
from  a  pair  of  feminine  lips,  and  many  sympa- 
thetic glances  at  Cryder's  flashing  eyes.)  "  Yet 
again,  the  common  fault  found  with  our  (I  wish  it 
understood  that  I  speak  always  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  country  which  I  have  adopted) — with 
our  writers  is  lack  of  passion.  Now,  nobody  can 
be  expected  to  be  passionate  when  groaning  in 
the  iron  stays  of  dialect.  Dialect  is  bit  and  curb 
to  the  emotions,  and  it  is  only  an  American  who 
is  sharp  enough  to  perceive  the  fact  and  make 
the  most  of  it.  AVhat  is  more,  pathos  sounds 
much  better  in  dialect  than  in  cold,  bald  English, 
just  as  impropriety  sounds  better  in  French,  and 
love-making  in  Spanish.  Contrast,  for  instance, 
the  relative  pathos  of  such  sentences  as  these — 
the  throbbing  sadness  of  the  one,  the  harsh 
bathos  of  the  other  :  '  I  done  lubbed  you,  Sally  !  ' 
'  I  loved  you,  Maria.'  "  (Laughter  from  one  side 
of  the  house  ;  ominous  silence  from  the  other.) 
"  Truly,  'tis  in  the  setting  the  jewel  shines.  I 
would  like  to  say,  in  conclusion,"  he  went  on, 
imperturbably,  "  that  Mr.  Cryder,  in  his  enumera- 
tion of  American   neologies  has  omitted   one   as 


86  Hcnnia  Suydam. 

important  and  distinctive  as  any  in  his  category, 
namely,  that  of  fashionable  society.  In  the  viril- 
ity, the  variety,  and  the  amplitude  of  her  slang, 
America  is  England's  most  formidable  rival." 

He  left  the  platform  amidst  limited  applause, 
and  then  Mr.  Cryder's  pent-up  wrath  burst  forth, 
and  he  denounced  in  scathing  terms  and  stinging 
epigrams  the  foreigner  who  had  proved  himself 
incapable  of  appreciating  one  of  his  country's 
most  remarkable  developments,  and  attempted  to 
satirize  it  from  his  petty  point  of  view. 

The  auditors  were  relieved  when  the  exercises 
were  over  and  the  club's  disruption  postponed, 
and,  betaking  themselves  to  the  supper-room,  dis- 
missed both  lecture  and  reply  from  their  minds. 

Hermia  was  standing  by  one  of  the  tables  talk- 
ing to  three  or  four  men,  when  Mr.  Simms  brought 
up  Cryder  and  introduced  him.  Cryder  looked 
absent  and  somewhat  annoyed.  He  was  evidently 
not  in  a  mood  to  be  impressed  by  feminine  loveli- 
ness. At  the  end  of  a  few  moments  Hermia 
wisely  let  him  go,  although  with  a  renewed  sense 
of  the  general  flatness  of  life.  At  the  same  time 
she  was  somewhat  amused,  and  sensible  enough 
to  know  that  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise. 


Hermia  Suydam.  87 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

OGDEN    CRYDER. 

Only  the  nineteenth  century  could  have 
evolved  Cryder.  The  infancy  of  a  democratic 
civilization  produces  giants.  The  giants  build 
hot-houses,  and  a  flower,  delicate,  beautiful,  ex- 
quisitely perfumed,  but  fragile,  light  as  bubbles 
of  blown  glass,  is  the  result.  America  is  now 
doing  the  best  she  can  with  her  hot-house  flora. 
She  has  no  great  men,  but  the  flora  is  wondrous 
fine.  Outside  the  forcing-houses  is  a  wilderness 
of  weeds  in  which  lies  her  future's  hope. 

Cryder  would  have  taken  the  medal  at  an 
orchid  show.  He  was  light  as  a  summer  breeze, 
yet  as  stimulating  and  fresh.  He  was  daintily 
humorous,  yet  seldom  witty  enough  to  excite 
envy.  His  conversation  was  like  the  song  of  a 
lark,  clear,  brilliant,  trilling,  with  never  a  bass 
note  to  disturb  the  harmony.  In  a  quick,  keen, 
flashing  way,  he  had  an  exact  knowledge  of  the 
salient  world.  He  was  artistic  to  his  finger-tips, 
and  preferred  an  aquarelle  to  an  oil.  He  had 
loved  many  times  and  hoped  to  love  as  many 
more,  and  his  love  was  always  that  of  an  aesthete. 


SS  Herffiia  Suydarn. 

For  coarse  passions  he  had  a  cold  contempt.  He 
had  broken  many  roses  from  their  stems,  but  more 
because  he  thought  an  herbarium  looked  better 
when  filled  than  because  he  enjoyed  the  plucking 
of  the  flower.  Probably  it  is  needless  to  observe 
that  he  never  drank  more  than  a  pint  bottle  of 
champagne,  and  that  he  never  over-ate. 

The  day  after  his  address  at  the  club  he  was 
walking  down  the  avenue  when  he  met  Helen 
Simms.  He  turned  back  with  her,  and  finished 
the  afternoon  in  her  drawing-room. 

Helen  did  not  give  him  so  much  of  her  time 
without  an  object.  She  cared  little  for  Cryder, 
and  few  of  her  doings  were  unprompted  by  mo- 
tive ;  life  was  too  brief. 

"You  met  ^liss  Suydam  last  night,  did  you 
not  ? "  she  asked,  when  Cryder  was  comfortably 
established  in  an  easy-chair  near  the  fire. 

"  Yes,  for  a  moment.  I  was  a  little  put  out  by 
Duncan's  attack  on  me,  and  only  stayed  for  a 
few  words.     I  needed  the  solace  of  a  cigarette." 

"  I  read  the  account  of  the  affair  in  this  morn- 
ing's papers.  Mr.  Duncan's  remarks  were  purely 
foolish,  as  he  must  have  realized  when  he  saw 
them  in  print.  However,  you  have  the  consola- 
tion of  knowing  that  after  your  reply  he  will  not 
be  likely  to  attack  you  again.  But  I  am  glad  you 
met  Miss  Suydam.  She  will  interest  you  as  a 
study.  She  is  all  the  rage  at  present.  Every 
other  man  in  town  is  in  love  with  her." 


Hermia  Suydajii.  89 

Cryder  turned  to  her  with  some  interest  in  his 
eyes.  "  Is  she  so  very  fascinating  ?  She  is  cer- 
tainly handsome — yes — styHshly  handsome." 

*'  Oh,  she  is  a  beauty  !  Such  a  unique  type ! 
And  she  is  quite  as  different  from  other  people 
herself.  That  is  her  great  trouble.  She  is  called 
a  terrible  flirt,  but  it  is  the  men's  fault,  not  hers. 
She  is  always  looking  for  something,  and  can 
never  find  it." 

"  Sad  and  strange  !  Is  she  a  young  woman  with 
yearnings  ? " 

"  Not  at  all.  She  is  the  most  sensible  woman  I 
know.  She  is  merely  unusually  clever,  conse- 
quently she  is  very  lonely.  I  do  not  believe  any 
man  will  ever  satisfy  her.  She  is  like  the  sleeping 
princess  in  the  enchanted  castle.  She  shuts  her- 
self up  in  that  wonderful  house  of  hers  and 
dreams  of  the  lover  who  never  comes." 

"  You  touch  my  fancy  ;  and  what  do  you  mean 
by  her  wonderful  house  ?  " 

"  That  house  would  delight  your  author's  soul. 
Every  room  is  the  materialization  of  a  dream,  as 
Hermia  would  say  ;  "  and  she  gave  him  an  ac- 
count of  her  friend's  inartistic  but  original  abode. 

Cryder  listened  with  much  interest.  Romance 
was  a  dead  letter  to  him,  but  he  was  alive  to  the 
picturesque.  He  concluded  that  it  would  be 
quite  enchanting  to  make  love  to  a  woman  in  a 
feudal  library  or  an  Indian  jungle,  and  more  than 
satisfactory  to  awaken    the    sleeping  beauty.     It 


90  Hermia  Suydam. 

would  be  a  charming  episode  for  his  present  brief 
stay  in  New  York,  altogether  quite  the  choicest 
specimen  in  his  herbarium.  What  she  was  wait- 
ing for  was  a  combination  of  brain  and  skill. 

"  You  have  made  me  want  to  know  her,"  he  said, 
*'but,  of  course,  she  did  not  ask  me  to  call." 

''  I  will  take  you  to  see  her  some  time." 

"That  is  very  good  of  you.  Some  afternoon 
when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do." 

"Come  on  Monday.  That  is  her  day.  You 
won't  have  much  chance  to  talk  to  her,  but  then 
you  can  go  again  as  soon  as  you  like." 

Cryder  took  out  his  note-book  and  penciled  a 
memorandum,  "On  Monday,  then." 

Helen  concluded  that  if  she  had  been  born  a 
man  she  would  have  elected  diplomacy  as  a  career. 


Hertnia  Suydam.  91 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN    A    METROPOLITAN    JUNGLE. 

Cryder  called  on  Herinia  Monday  afternoon. 
Although  the  room  was  full  he  had  a  few  words 
with  her,  and  she  thought  him  very  charming. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
w^anted  to  talk  to  you  ever  since  I  met  you,  but  I 
was  in  such  a  bad  humor  the  other  night  that  I 
would  not  inflict  you.  Are  you  ever  alone  ?  Can- 
not I  have  an  hour  or  two  some  evening  ?  " 

Hermia  smiled.  "  Come  on  Thursday  evening. 
I  have  not  another  evening  until  late  next  week." 

"  I  have  an  engagement,  but  I  will  break  it. 
And  will  you  think  me  impertinent  if  I  ask  you  to 
show  me  all  over  this  wonderful  house  ?  There  is 
nothing  like  it  in  Europe." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Hermia,  enthusias- 
tically.    "  So  few  people  appreciate  it." 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  think  I  can.  But  in 
thought  I  always  dwell  in  the  past  (he  hated  the 
past),  and  although  my  work  is  realistic,  because 
realism  is  of  more  value  to  literature,  yet  my 
nature  is  essentially  a  romantic  one.  Only,  one 
so  seldom  acknowledges  romance,  one  is  so  afraid 
of  being  laughed  at." 


92  Hermia  Suydam. 

He  watched  her  as  he  spoke,  and  saw  a  sudden 
gleam  come  into  her  eyes.  A  year's  training  and 
her  own  native  cleverness  had  taught  Hermia  not 
to  believe  all  that  men  said  to  her,  but  Cryder  had 
struck  a  well-loved  chord.  And  she  had  no  wish 
to  be  skeptical. 

On  Thursday  evening  Hermia  arrayed  herself 
with  great  care.  After  much  deliberation  she 
donned  a  gown  which  as  yet  she  had  never  worn. 
It  was  of  tan-gold  velvet,  with  irregular  appliques 
of  dark-brown  plush.  Down  the  front  was  a  curi- 
ous design  of  gold  braid  and  deep-green  brilliants. 

She  received  Cryder  in  the  conservatory.  It 
had  but  recently  been  completed,  and  looked 
enough  like  a  jungle  to  deceive  the  most  suspicious 
of  tigers.  The  green  tiles  of  the  floor  were 
painted  with  a  rank  growth  of  grasses  and  ferns. 
Through  the  palms  and  tropical  shrubs  that 
crowded  the  conservatory  glared  the  wild  beasts 
of  far-off  jungles,  marvelously  stuffed  and  poised. 
The  walls  were  forgotten  behind  a  tapestry  of 
reeds  and  birds  of  the  Orient.  In  one  corner  was 
a  fountain,  simulating  a  pool,  and  on  its  surface 
floated  the  pink,  fragrant  lilies  that  lie  on  eastern 
lakes.  Few  people  had  seen  this  jungle — before 
its  completion,  Hermia  had  learned  that  it  was 
dangerous  to  test  her  city's  patience  too  far. 

Hermia  sat  down  on  a  bank  and  waited  for  the 
curtain  to  rise.  She  felt  the  humor  of  the  situation, 
but  she  knew  that  the  effect  was  good.     A  few 


Herviia  Si/ydam.  ^3 

moments  later  Cryder  came  in  and  was  charmed. 
He  had  the  same  remote  yearning  for  the  bar- 
baric that  the  small,  blonde  actor  has  for  the 
part  of  the  heavy  villain.  As  he  walked  down 
the  jungle  toward  Hermia,  he  felt  that  he  gave 
this  Eastern  ideal  its  completing  touch. 

Hermia  held  up  her  hand.  "  I  would  not  have 
dared  do  this  for  any  one  but  you,"  she  said, 
"but  you  will  understand." 

*'  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  apologize  !  "  ex- 
claimed Cryder.  He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips 
and  sat  down  on  the  bank  beside  her.  "  There 
was  never  anything  so  enchanting  in  real  life. 
And  you — you  are  Cleopatra  in  your  tiger-hood." 
*'I  was  Semiramis  before,"  said  Hermia,  indif- 
ferently. She  turned  her  head  and  gave  him  a 
meditative  glance.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  said, 
with  an  instinct  of  coquetry  rare  to  her,  ''  I  can- 
not understand  your  being  a  realistic  author." 

He  was  somewhat  taken  aback,  but  he  replied 
promptly  :  *'  That  is  a  mere  accident.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  care  no  more  for  realism  than  I 
do  for  idealism,  and  dialect  is  a  frightful  bore. 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  told  no  one  else.  Now 
that  my  position  is  established,  my  name  made,  I 
am  going  to  leave  dialect  to  those  who  can  do 
no  better,  and  write  a  great  romantic  novel." 

Hermia  thought  his  last  remark  a  trifle  con- 
ceited, but  she  forgave  it  for  the  sake  of  its  senti- 
ment.    "I  shall   like  that,"  she    said,  "and    be 


94  Hermia  Suydain. 

romantic  without  sensationalism.  Tell  me  the 
plot  of  your  book." 

"  It  is  too  vague  to  formulate,  but  you  and 
your  house  are  to  be  its  inspiration.  I  have 
wanted  to  meet  a  woman  like  you  ;  the  study  will 
be  an  education.  Tell  me  of  your  life.  You  have 
not  always  been  as  you  are  now  ?  " 

Hermia  gave  him  a  startled  glance.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ? "  she  demanded. 

"  I  mean  that  you  have  two  personalities,  an 
actual  and  an  assumed.     You  are  playing  apart." 

Hermia  gave  him  a  fierce  glance  from  beneath 
her  black  brows.  "  You  know  that  until  a  year 
ago  I  was  poor  and  obscure,  and  you  are  rude 
enough  to  remind  me  that  I  play  the  part  of 
grande  dame  very  badly,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Cryder,  quickly, 
"  I  knew  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  might  have 
spent  the  last  ten  years  in  a  fashionable  boarding- 
school  for  all  I  have  heard  to  the  contrary.  But 
I  repeat  what  I  said.  I  received  two  impressions 
the  night  we  met.  One  was  that  you  were  at 
war  with  something  or  somebody  ;  the  other  that 
you  had  a  double  personality,  and  that  of  one 
the  world  had  no  suspicion.  It  is  either  that 
you  have  a  past,  or  that  you  are  at  present  in  con- 
ditions entirely  new  and  consequently  unfamiliar. 
I  believe  it  is  the  latter.  You  do  not  look  like  a 
woman  who  has  lived.  There  is  just  one  thing 
wanting  to  make  your  face  the  most  remarkable 


Hermia  Suydam.  95 

I  have  seen  ;  but  until  it  gets  that  it  will  be  like 
a  grand  painting  whose  central  figure  has  been 
left  as  the  last  work  of  the  artist. 

Hermia  leaned  her  elbow  on  her  knee  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hand.  She  experienced 
the  most  pleasurable  sensation  she  had  ever 
known.  This  was  the  first  man  who  had  shown 
the  faintest  insight  into  her  contradictory  person- 
ality and  complicated  nature.  For  the  moment 
she  forgot  where  she  was,  and  she  gave  a  little 
sigh  which  brought  the  blood  to  her  face.  To 
love  would  not  be  so  difficult  as  she  had  imagined. 

"What  is  it  1 "  asked  Cryder,  gently.  He  had 
been  watching  her  covertly.  "  I  want  to  amend 
something  I  said  a  moment  ago.  You  have  not 
lived  in  fact  but  you  have  in  imagination,  and 
the  men  your  fancy  has  created  have  made  those 
of  actual,  prosaic  life  appear  tame  and  colorless." 

Hermia's  heart  gave  a  bound.  She  turned  to 
him  with  shining  eyes.  "  How  do  you  know 
that  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  Is  it  not  true  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said,  helplessly,  "it  is  true." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  how  I  know.  Because  I 
have  lived  half  my  natural  life  with  the  population 
of  my  brain,  and  dream-people  know  one  another. 
Ours  have  met  and  shaken  hands  while  we  have 
been  exchanging  platitudes." 

"  That  is  very  pretty,"  said  Hermia  ;  "  I  hope 
their  estates   border  upon    each   other,  and  that 


g6  Hermia  Suydam. 

their  chosen  landscape  is  the  same,  for  dream- 
people  may  have  their  antipathies,  like  the  inhab- 
itents  of  the  visible  world.  Because  we  have  taken 
out  our  title-deeds  in  dream-land,  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  our  tenants  live  in  harmony." 

"  It  would  not — except  that  we  both  instinct- 
ively know  that  there  has  not  been  even  border 
warfare.  There  have  been  marriage  and  inter- 
marriage ;  the  princes  of  my  reigning  house  have 
demanded  in  state " 

Hermia  interrupted  him  harshly  :  "  There  is  no 
marriage  or  giving  in  marriage  in  my  kingdom. 
I  hate  the  word  !    Are  you  very  much  shocked  ? " 

Cryder  smiled.  "No,"  he  said,  **one  is  sur- 
prised sometimes  to  hear  one's  own  dearest  theories 
in  the  mouth  of  another,  but  not  shocked.  It 
only  needed  that  to  make  you  the  one  woman  I 
have  wanted  to  know.  You  have  that  rarest  gift 
among  women — a  catholic  mind.  And  it  does 
not  spring  from  immorality  or  vulgar  love  of  ex- 
citement— you  are  simply  brave  and  original. 

Hermia  leaned  forward,  her  pupils  dilating  until 
her  eyes  looked  like  rings  of  marsh  about  lakes  of 
ink.  "  You  know  that — you  understand  that  ?  " 
she  whispered,  breathlessly. 

Cryder  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes.  "  Yes,"  he 
said,  "and  no  one  ever  did  before." 

His  audacity  had  the  desired  effect.  Men  were 
always  a  little  afraid  of  Hermia.  She  looked  at 
him  without  speaking — a  long  gaze  which  he  re- 


IIe}'inia  Suydatn.  97 

turned.  He  was  certainly  most  attractive,  although 
in  quite  a  different  way  from  any  man  born  of  her 
imaginings.  Perhaps,  however,  that  gave  him  the 
charm  of  novelty.  He  was  almost  magnetic  ;  he 
almost  thrilled  her — not  quite,  but  that  would 
come  later.  She  had  received  so  many  impres- 
sions this  evening  that  no  one  could  master  her. 
Yes,  she  was  sure  she  was  going  to  love  him. 
"No,"  she  said,  at  last,  "no  one  ever  did." 
"  You  have  been  loved  in  a  great  many  ways," 
Cryder  went  on  ;  "  for  your  beauty,  w^iich 
appeals  to  the  senses  of  men,  yet  which  at  the 
same  time  frightens  them,  because  of  the  tragic 
element  which  is  as  apparent  as  the  passionate  ; 
for  your  romantic  surroundings,  which  appeal  to 
their  sentiment ;  for  the  glamour  which  envelops 
you  as  one  of  the  most  sought-after  women  in 
New  York  ;  for  your  intellect ;  and  for  your  in- 
comprehensibility to  the  average  mind,  which  has 
the  fascination  of  mystery.  But  I  doubt  if  any 
man  has  ever  known  or  cared  whether  you  have  a 
psychic  side.  If  I  fall  in  love  with  you,  I  shall 
love  )'Our  soul,  primarily.  Passion  is  merely  the 
expression  of  spiritual  exaltation.  Independently 
of  the  latter  it  is  base.  A  woman  of  your  strong 
psychical  nature  could  never  forget  the  soul  for 
the  body — not  for  a  moment." 

"  That  is  very  beautiful,"  murmured  Hermia, 
dreamily.  "  Can  it  be  ?  And  are  you  sure  that 
I  have  any  spirituality  ?  " 

7 


98  Herjnia  Suydam. 

"  If  you  do  not  know  it,  it  is  because  you  have 
never  loved  and  never  been  loved  in  the  right 
way."  He  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet,  and  then, 
before  she  could  answer,  he  was  gone. 

She  sank  her  elbow  into  a  cushion  and  leaned 
her  cheek  on  lier  palm.  Cryder  had  touched  her 
sensuous  nature  by  the  artistic  novelty  of  his  woo- 
ing— her  ideal  had  been  brutal  and  direct.  She 
had  always  imagined  she  should  like  that  best,  but 
this  was  a  new  idea  and  very  charming.  It  ap- 
pealed to  the  poetic  element  in  her.  The  poetic 
vase  tossed  aloft  the  spray  of  refined  passion  and 
rode  contemptuously  over  the  undertow  of  sensu- 
ality.    That  was  as  it  should  be. 

She  went  up-stairs,  and,  after  she  was  in  bed, 
thought  for  a  long  time.  She  slept  until  late  the 
next  day,  and  in  the  afternoon  paid  a  number  of 
calls.  In  the  temporary  seclusion  of  her  carriage 
she  took  pleasure  in  assuring  herself  that  Cryder 
was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 


Hermia  Suydam,  99 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A    CLEVER    TRIFLER. 

The  next  afternoon  Cryder  came  again.  Her- 
mia received  him  this  time  in  the  hall  which,  with 
its  Gothic  roof,  its  pictured  windows,  its  walls 
ribbed  and  dark,  and  its  organ,  looked  like  a  ca- 
thedral. As  she  came  down  the  broad  staircase, 
in  a  gown  that  made  her  look  as  if  she  had  stepped 
from  some  old  French  canvas,  Cryder  stood  gaz- 
ing at  her  for  a  moment,  then  without  a  word  sat 
down  before  the  organ  and  began  to  play.  The 
organ  needs  only  a  skillful  hand  ;  its  own  rich, 
sonorous  tones  pour  soul  through  cold,  calm  fin- 
gers. Cryder  played  Tristan's  Death  Song,  and 
Hermia  sank  into  a  chair  and  felt  that  naught 
existed  but  glory  of  color  and  surge  of  sound. 

Cryder  played  but  a  short  time — he  never  did 
anything  too  long — then  went  over  and  sat  beside 
her.  He  made  her  talk  about  herself,  and  man- 
aged to  extract  much  of  her  past.  He  learned 
nothing,  however,  of  her  former  lack  of  beauty. 
Then  he  entertained  her  brilliantly  for  an  hour 
with  accounts  of  celebrated  people  he  had  met. 

After  he  had  gone  she  felt  a  vague  sense  of  dis- 
appointment ;  he  had  not  touched  upon  co-per- 


loo  Hermia  Suydam. 

sonal  topics  for  a  moment.  The  sense  of  disap- 
pointment grew  and  deepened,  and  then  she  gave 
a  sudden  start  and  smiled.  She  could  not  feel 
disappointment  were  she  not  deeply  interested. 
Was  this  the  suffering,  the  restlessness,  which  were 
said  to  be  a  part  of  love  ?  Surely  !  She  was 
pained  that  he  could  talk  lightly  upon  indifferent 
subjects,  and  apparently  quite  forget  the  sympathy 
which  existed  between  them.  The  pain  and  the 
chagrin  might  not  be  very  acute,  but  they  Avere 
forewarnings  of  intenser  suffering  to  come.  Of 
course  she  wanted  to  suffer.  All  women  do  until 
the  suffering  comes.  After  that  they  do  not  go 
out  of  their  way  to  look  for  it. 

She  went  up-stairs  and  sat  down  before  the  fire 
in  her  boudoir.  It  was  very  delightful  to  fall  in 
love  with  a  man  as  mentally  agreeable  as  Cryder. 
He  would  always  entertain  her.  She  would  never 
be  bored  !  The  intervals  between  love-making 
would  never  drag  ;  she  had  heard  that  they  were 
sometimes  trying.  And  then  the  pictures  between 
those  framing  intervals — when  the  fierce,  hot  tide 
of  passion  within  her  would  leap  like  a  tidal  wave, 
lashed  into  might  by  the  convulsion  at  its  heart. 
And  Cryder  !  To  see  the  tiger  in  the  man  fling 
off  its  shackles  and  look  through  the  calm  brown 
of  his  eyes  !  (Like  all  girls,  Hermia  believed  that 
every  man  had  a  tiger  chained  up  inside  him,  no 
matter  how  cold  he  might  be  exteriorly.)  What 
a  triumph  to  break  down  that  cool  self-control ! 


Her7nia  Suydam.  loi 

Her  maid  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  she 
drank  it ;  then,  resting  her  elbows  on  her  knees 
leaned  her  chin  on  her  locked  fingers.  There 
were  some  things  she  did  not  like  about  Cryder. 
He  lacked  literary  conscience,  and  she  doubted 
if  he  had  much  of  any  sort.  Her  high  ideals  still 
clung  to  her  ;  but  perhaps  this  was  her  mission  in 
life — to  remold  Cryder.  A  man  is  always  much 
under  the  influence  of  the  woman  who  gives  him 
his  happiness  ;  she  would  have  a  grand  opportu- 
nity to  make  him  better.  When  the  end  came,  as 
of  course  it  would — she  was  no  longer  such  a  fool 
as  to  imagine  that  love  lasted  forever — he  should 
have  much  to  thank  her  for. 

When  a  woman  thinks  she  loves  a  man,  she 
dreams  of  making  him  better.  When  she  really 
loves  him,  she  would  have  him  share  his  virtues 
with  the  saints.  She  loves  his  faults  and  encour- 
ages them  ;  she  glories  in  the  thought  that  his 
personality  is  strong  enough  to  make  her  indiffer- 
ent to  defects.  This  lesson,  however,  Hermia 
had  yet  to  learn  ;  but  she  was  pleased  with  the 
idea  of  putting  the  spirituality  of  which  Cryder 
had  accused  her  to  some  practical  use.  She  had 
not  a  very  clear  idea  what  spirituality  meant,  but 
she  thought  she  was  learning. 


I02  Hermia  Suydam. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    LITERARY     DINNER. 

A  FEW  weeks  later  Hermia  gave  a  dinner  to 
Cryder.  The  other  guests  were  Mr.  Overton,  Mr. 
Simms,  Alan  Emmet,  a  young  author  who  com- 
bined the  literary  and  the  sensational  in  a  man- 
ner which  gave  him  much  notoriety,  Mr.  Langley, 
Cryder's  publisher,  and  Ralph  Embury,  a  noted 
young  journalist.  Helen  Simms  was  there  to 
chatter  serious  thought  to  ambush,  and  Miss  Star- 
bruck,  primly  alert,  and  waiting  to  be  shocked. 

Poor  Miss  Starbruck  !  She  drifted  like  a  gray 
shadow  through  Hermia's  rooms,  and  longed  for 
her  modest  cottage  at  Nantucket. .  She  had  been 
an  active  member  of  sewing-circles  and  reading- 
clubs,  and  the  farther  down  her  past's  perspec- 
tive did  this  unexciting  environment  retreat,  the 
oftener  did  she  sigh  as  she  contrasted  its  cool 
shadows  with  the  hot  glare  into  which  fate's 
caprice  had  suddenly  cast  her.  But  Hermia  was 
considerate — if  Miss  Starbruck  appeared  at  her 
niece's  dinners  and  receptions,  and  drove  with  her 
occasionally,  she  could  sit  up  in  her  room  and 
dream  of  Nantucket  and  bewail  duty  as  much  as 
she  pleased.     Mrs.  Dykman  was  chaperon-in-chief. 


Hermia  Suydam.  103 

Hermia  wore  a  gown  of  white  velvet,  simply 
made,  and  fitting  in  wrinkleless  perfection  the  free 
lines  and  curves  of  her  full,  lithe  figure.  About 
her  throat  hung  a  silver  chain  of  Roman  work- 
manship, and  around  her  waist  a  girdle  of  similar 
but  heavier  links.  The  wiry  maze  of  her  hair 
outshone  the  diamond  pins  that  confined  it. 

Miss  Simms  wore  a  dinner-gown  of  black  tulle 
and  a  profusion  of  chrysanthemums.  Her  hair 
was  as  sleek  as  a  mole. 

The  conversation  was  naturally  more  or  less 
literary,  and  Hermia  drew  out  her  ambitious 
guests  with  a  good  deal  of  skill.  It  was  hard  to 
curb  them  when  they  were  started,  but  she 
managed  to  make  each  feel  that  he  had  had  an 
opportunity  to  shine.  Some  day,  when  her  personal 
interest  in  life  had  ceased,  she  intended  to  have  a 
salo7i^  and  this  was  a  pleasant  foretaste.  She 
even  let  Mr.  Simms  tell  a  few  anecdotes,  but 
after  the  third  gently  suppressed  him. 

It  is  not  easy  to  check  the  anecdotal  impulse, 
and  both  Mr.  Langley  and  Mr.  Overton  were 
reminiscent.  The  former  told  a  tale  of  a  young 
man  who  had  brought  him  a  manuscript  ten  years 
before,  and  never  returned  to  ask  its  destiny. 

"  He  looked  delicate,  and  I  imagine  he  died  of 
consumption,"  said  the  great  publisher,  placidly, 
as  he  discussed  his  pate.  "  At  all  events  I  have 
never  heard  from  him  since.  Our  readers  unani- 
mously advised  us  not  to  publish  the  manuscript. 


I04  Hermia  Suydam. 

It  was  entirely  out  of  our  line,  and  would  have 
involved  great  risk.  We  put  it  aside  and  for- 
got all  about  it.  The  other  day  I  happened  to 
meet  one  of  the  readers  through  whose  hands 
it  passed — he  has  not  been  with  us  for  some 
years — and  he  asked  me  why  I  did  not  publish  the 
rejected  book.  '  That  sort  of  thing  has  become 
fashionable  now,'  he  said,  '  and  you  would  make 
money  out  of  it.'  I  merely  mention  this  as  an 
illustration  of  how  fashion  changes  in  literature  as 
in  everything  else." 

"You  publishers  are  awful  cowards,"  said  Em- 
met, in  his  drawling  tones ;  "  you  are  so  afraid  of 
anything  new  that  all  authors  you  introduce  are 
branded  Prophets  of  the  Commonplace." 

Mr.  Langley's  blonde,  pleasant  little  face  took 
a  warmer  hue,  and  he  answered  somewhat  testily  : 
"  The  publisher  was  brave,  indeed,  who  presented 
you  to  the  public,  Mr.  Emmet. 

In  spite  of  the  general  laugh,  Emmet  replied 
imperturbably :  "  The  best  advertisement  I  had, 
and  the  only  one  which  I  myself  inserted,  was  that 
*  Mrs.  Bleeker '  had  been  refused  by  every  con- 
servative house  in  New  York.  My  reward  is  that 
I  have  the  reputation  instead  of  the  firm." 

**  No  ;  the  firm  hasn't  any  left — that's  a  fact," 
retorted  Mr.  Langley ;  and  Emmet  turned  to 
Helen  with  a  pout  on  his  boyish  face. 

"  Do  my  books  shock  you  ?"  he  asked  her. 

Helen  smiled.     "  No,  they  do   not,"  she   said, 


Herniia  Suydajn.  105 

briefly.  "  I  quite  adore  them.  I  don't  always 
acknowledge  having  read  them,  but  I  don't  mind 
telling  you,  considering  that  you  are  the  author." 

"  Oh,  some  women  assure  me  that  nothing 
would  induce  them  to  read  my  books.  I  am  glad 
you  have  the  courage  of  your  opinions.  I  scorn 
women  who  have  not,  and  I  will  not  talk  to  a  girl 
unless  I  can  do  so  as  freely  as  to  a  man." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  a  prude,"  said  Helen,  lightly. 
"  I  only  draw  the  line  at  positive  indecency,  and 
you  are  quite  vague  enough.  But  do  you  always 
talk  to  men  on  improper  subjects  ?" 

"  Oh — no  ;  I  merely  meant  that  I  like  to  feel 
the  same  lack  of  restraint  with  women  as  with 
men.  It  is  a  bore  to  call  up  ev^ery  thought  for 
inspection  before  you  utter  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Helen  ;  "you  wouldn't  talk  at  all, 
you  would  only  inspect." 

"  Speaking  of  mysterious  disappearances,"  broke 
in  Embury's  voice,  "  what  has  become  of  that  girl 
who  used  to  give  us  such  bucketfuls  of  soulful 
lava  ? — the  one  who  signed  herself  '  Quirus  '  ?  " 

Mr.  Overton  laughed,  and  much  to  Herrnia's 
relief  every  one  turned  to  him.  "She  brought 
me  that  poem  I  published,  herself,  and  I  came 
near  laughing  outright  once  or  twice.  I  have 
seen  few  plainer  women ;  there  was  such  a 
general  dinginess  about  her.  At  the  same  time 
there  was  a  certain  magnetism  which,  I  imagine, 
would    have    been  pronounced  had    she   been   a 


^ 


1 06  Herfnid  Suydam. 

stronger  woman.  But  I  should  not  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  she  had  died  of  consumption." 

"Is  it  possible  ?"  said  Embury.  "Her  work 
was  strong,  however.  Why  didn't  you  take  her  in 
hand  and  bring  her  up  in  the  way  she  should  go  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Embury,  life  is  too  short.  That 
girl  was  all  wrong.  She  worked  her  syllogisms 
backward,  so  to  speak.  Her  intellect  was  molten 
with  the  heat  of  her  imagination,  and  stunted 
with  the  narrowness  of  her  experience.  She  rea- 
soned from  effect  to  cause.  Her  characters, 
instead  of  being  the  carefully  considered  prod- 
ucts of  environment  and  heredity,  were  always 
altered  or  distorted  to  suit  some  dramatic  event. 
Intellect  without  experience  of  the  heart  and  of 
life  is  responsible  for  more  errors  than  innate 
viciousness  which  is  controlled  by  worldly  wis- 
dom, or  natural  folly  which  is  clothed  in  the  gown 
of  accumulated  knowledge.  I  have  seen  so  many 
clever  writers  go  to  pieces,"  he  added,  regarding 
his  empty  plate  with  a  sigh  ;  "  they  lie  so.  They 
have  no  conscience  whatever,  and  they  are  too 
clever  to  see  it." 

"  Then  how  can  they  help  themselves  .''  "  asked 
Hermia,  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"They  had  better  wait  until  they  can." 

Hermia  did  not  care  to  pursue  the  subject,  and 
saw,  moreover,  that  Embury  was  waiting  to  be 
heard.  "What  would  journalism  do  if  no  one 
knew  how  to  lie  ?  "  she  asked  him,  with   a   smile, 


Hermia  Suydam.  107 

and  was  somewhat  surprised  when  every  man  at 
the  table  except  Embury  laughed  aloud. 

Embury  colored,  but  replied  promptly  :  "  It 
would  probably  die  for  want  of  patronage." 

"  You  are  right,  Embury,"  said  Cryder.  "  You 
could  not  have  found  a  more  appreciative  field 
for  your  talents." 

Embury  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  and  Cry- 
der continued  :  "  I  never  could  resist  the  temp- 
tation to  kick  a  friend  when  he  was  down.  I  will 
give  you  an  opportunity  later." 

"  Life  is  made  up  of  lost  opportunities — I  prob- 
ably shall  not  see  it.  True,  I  might  review  your 
books,  but  to  do  so  I  should  have  to  read  them." 

"  Is  this  the  way  literary  people  always  spar  ? " 
murmured  Hermia  to  Cryder. 

"  Oh  !  do  not  let  it  worry  you,"  he  replied. 
**This  is  only  facetiousness — American  humor. 
It  doesn't  hurt."  He  dropped  his  voice.  "  Are 
you  not  well  ?     You  look  tired." 

"  I  am  tired,"  said  Hermia,  returning  his  gaze — 
he  seemed  very  near  to  her  at  that  moment. 
"Clever  people,  singly,  are  very  dehghtful,  but 
€71  masse  they  keep  one  on  the  rack." 

"  Don't  bother  any  more  !"  said  Cryder.  "  Leave 
them  to  me  ;  I  will  take  care  of  them." 

"  You  are  good,"  murmured  Hermia.  "  When 
I  am  old  I  shall  like  a  salon;  I  shall  like  the 
power  of  it.     Now — it  bores  me  a  little." 

Cryder  bent  somewhat  nearer  to  her.    "  Do  not 


io8  Hermia  Suydam. 

wait  too  long  for  anything,"  he  murmured.  "  A 
man's  power  comes  with  age  ;  a  woman's  power 
goes  with  age." 

He  turned  from  her  suddenly  and  addressed  a 
remark  to  Embury  which  immediately  gave  that 
clever  young  man  a  chance  to  entertain  his  com- 
panions for  ten  minutes.  Hermia  found  herself 
drifting  from  her  guests.  She  had  undergone 
many  evolutions  of  thought  and  feeling  during  the 
past  few  weeks.  At  times  she  had  believed  her- 
self in  love  with  Cryder  ;  at  others,  she  had  been 
conscious  of  indifferent  liking.  She  was  puzzled 
to  find  that  his  abstract  image  thrilled  her  more 
than  his  actual  presence.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
liked  him  better  when  with  him.  He  was  so  enter- 
taining, so  sympathetic  ;  he  had  such  delicate 
tact  and  charm.  When  absent,  she  sometimes 
thought  of  him  with  a  certain  distaste  ;  he  had 
qualities  that  she  disliked,  and  he  was  diametri- 
cally different  from  all  imagined  lovers.  Then 
she  would  make  up  her  mind  to  close  her  eyes  to 
his  deficiencies  and  to  love  him  spiritually.  She 
would  compel  herself  to  think  of  him  for  hours 
together  on  an  exalted  mental  and  spiritual  plane, 
where  passion  had  no  place.  Not  that  she  believed 
him  incapable  of  passion,  by  any  means — she 
believed  that  all  men  were  constructed  on  the 
same  plan — but  he  was  so  different  from  that  man 
who  now  dwelt  behind  a  barred  door  in  her  brain 
that  she  felt  it  her  duty,  to  both,  to  love  him  in  a 


Hermia  Sicydam.  109 

different  way.  She  was  surprised  to  find  that  after 
such  aesthetic  communion  she  almost  hated  him. 
Reaction  following  excess  of  passion  may  be  short- 
lived ;  but  immoderate  sentimentality  leaves  a 
mental  ennui  that  requires  a  long  convalescence. 
Sentimentality  is  a  growth  of  later  civilization, 
and  trails  its  roots  over  the  surface  like  a  pine  ; 
while  passion  had  its  seeds  planted  in  the  garden 
of  Eden,  and  is  root,  branch,  twig,  and  leaf  of 
human  nature. 

In  summing  up  her  sensations  she  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  on  the  whole  she  was  in 
love  with  him.  No  one  had  ever  moved  her  one- 
tenth  as  much  before.  If  she  had  not  lost  her 
head  about  him,  it  was  because  her  nature  had 
slept  too  long  to  awake  in  a  moment.  That 
would  come  by  degrees.  There  were  times  when 
she  felt  the  impulse  to  cast  herself  on  her  face 
and  sob  farewell  to  the  dreams  of  her  youth  and 
to  the  lover  who  had  been  a  being  more  real  than 
Ogden  Cryder  ;  but  she  thrust  aside  the  impulse 
with  a  frown  and  plunged  into  her  daily  life. 

At  opportune  moments  Hermia' s  attention  re- 
turned to  her  guests.  Miss  Starbruck  rose  at  a 
signal  from  her  niece  and  the  women  went  into 
the  library.  The  men  joined  them  soon  after,  and 
Cryder,  much  to  the  gratitude  of  his  tired  and 
dreamy  hostess,  continued  to  entertain  them  until 
eleven  o'clock,  when  they  went  home. 


no  Hermia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AN    ILLUSION    DISPELLED. 

The  front  door  had  closed  after  the  last  guest, 
the  butler  had  turned  down  the  lights  in  the  hall, 
Miss  Starbruck  had  gone  up-stairs,  and  Hermia 
was  standing  by  the  library  fire.  She  heard  some 
one  come  down  the  hall,  and  turned  her  head,  her 
expression  of  indifference  and  mental  fatigue  lift- 
ing a  little.  The  portiere  was  pushed  aside  and 
Cryder  entered  the  room. 
******* 

The  next  morning  Hermia  stood  gazing  at  her 
bedroom  fire  for  a  few  moments  before  going 
down-stairs.  Her  face  wore  a  peculiar  expression. 
"  Is  there  anything  in  love  ?  "  she  murmured,  half 
aloud.     "  Is  there  ?  " 

She  went  down  to  the  library  and  sank  listlessly 
into  a  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
She  did  not  love  Cryder.  There  was  but  one 
answer  to  the  question  now.  Imagination  and 
will  had  done  their  utmost,  but  had  been  con- 
quered by  fact.  She  had  made  a  horrible  mistake. 
She  felt  an  impulse  to  fling  herself  on  the  floor  and 
shriek  aloud.     But  the  self-control  of  years  was 


Hermia  Suydam.  m 

stronger  than  impulse.  In  spite  of  the  softening 
influences  of  happier  conditions,  she  must  suffer 
or  enjoy  in  her  old  dumb  way  until  something  had 
smashed  that  iron  in  her  nature  to  atoms  or  melted 
it  to  lava. 

But,  if  she  was  saturated  with  dull  disgust  and 
disappointment,  her  conscience  rapped  audibly  on 
her  inactive  brain.  It  was  her  duty  to  herself  and 
to  Cryder  to  break  the  thing  off  at  once — to  con- 
tinue it,  in  fact,  was  an  impossibility.  But  she 
shrank  from  telling  Cryder  that  he  must  go  and 
not  return.  He  loved  her,  not  as  she  had  wanted 
to  be  loved,  perhaps,  but  with  his  heart,  his  senti- 
ment. She  liked  him — very  much  indeed — and 
had  no  desire  to  give  him  pain.  He  might  suffer 
the  more  keenly  because  of  the  fineness  of  his 
sensibilities.  Suppose  he  should  kill  himself  ? 
Men  so  often  killed  themselves  for  women  who 
did  not  love  them.  She  remembered  that  she 
had  dreamed  of  men  dying  for  hopeless  love  of 
her  ;  but,  now  that  it  seemed  imminent,  the 
romance  was  gone.  It  would  be  nothing  but  a 
vulgar  newspaper  story  after  all. 

What  should  she  do  ?  She  must  tell  him.  She 
turned  to  her  desk,  then  sank  back  into  her 
chair.  She  could  not  write.  He  would  come 
again  that  evening.  She  would  tell  him  then. 
Written  words  of  that  sort  were  always  brutal. 

How  she  got  through  that  day  she  never  knew. 
It   seemed   as   if   the   very   wheels   of  life  were 


112  Hermia  Suyda??i. 

clogged.  The  sky  was  gray  and  the  snow  fell 
heavily  ;  the  gas  had  to  be  lighted  in  the  house. 
No  one  called  ;  but  Hermia  was  willing  to  be  left 
to  solitude.  She  was  not  restless,  she  was  dully 
indifferent.  The  graynessof  the  day  entered  into 
her  and  enveloped  lier  ;  life  in  the  Brooklyn  flat 
had  never  looked  colder  and  barer  than  in  this 
palace  which  her  will  and  her  wealth  had  created. 
When  evening  came  she  gave  orders  that  no 
one  but  Cryder  should  be  admitted.  Somewhat 
to  her  surprise  he  did  not  come.  She  did  not 
care  particularly,  but  went  to  bed  at  half-past 
nine,  and  had  Miss  Newton  rub  her  to  sleep. 


Hermia  Suydam.  113 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

A    BLOODLESS    ENTHUSIAST. 

Cryder  did  not  come  the  next  day  or  evening, 
nor  did  he  write.  At  first  Hermia  experienced  a 
mild  fear  that  he  was  ill  ;  but  Helen  Simms  called 
the  following  morning  and  said,  en  passant,  that  she 
had  met  him  a  few  moments  before  on  the  street. 
Then  Hermia  began  to  be  piqued  and  a  little 
mortified.  For  several  hours  she  thought  less 
about  dismissing  him.  The  next  day  the  whole 
thing  seemed  like  a  dream  ;  she  caught  herself 
wondering  if  it  had  really  happened.  At  this 
point  she  received  a  note  from  Cryder. 

"  It  is  a  year  since  I  have  seen  you,  but  I  have  a  book 
due  at  the  publisher's  on  Thursday,  and  I  have  been  work- 
ing night  and  day.  After  the  weary  grind  is  over  you  will 
see  too  much  of  me.  In  the  mean  time  I  am  with  you 
always.  In  fancy  I  look  into  your  eyes  and  see  the  waves 
break  over  the  rocks,  and  watch  the  moon  coquet  with  the 
tides.  Now  the  green  bosom  of  the  sea  is  placid  for  a 
moment,  and  I  see  *  *  *  the  mermaids  *  *  * 
sleeping  in  their  caves — 

''Until  to-night  ! 

"O.  C." 
8 


114  Hermia  Suydam. 

Hermia  shrugged  her  shoulders.  It  was  very- 
pretty,  but  rather  tame.  At  the  same  time  her 
pride  was  glad  to  be  reassured  that  he  still  loved 
her,  and  she  once  more  put  her  dismissal  into 
mental  shape  and  blunted  the  arrow  of  decree 
with  what  art  she  possessed. 

When  he  was  shown  into  the  library  that  even- 
ing she  rose  nervously,  wondering  how  she  was  to 
keep  him  from  kissing  her.  He  raised  her  hand 
lightly  to  his  lips  after  his  old  habit,  complimented 
her  Catherine  de'  Medici  gown,  and  threw  himself 
into  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire. 

"  How  grateful  this  fire  is  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  It  is  one  of  those  horrid,  sleety  nights.  The 
horse  slipped  once  or  twice." 

"  Did  you  come  in  a  cab  ? "  asked  Hermia. 
"Yes  ;  I  had  not  the  courage  to  face  that  long 
block  from  the  elevated." 

He  settled  himself  back  in  his  chair,  asked  per- 
mission to  light  a  cigarette,  and  for  an  hour  enter- 
tained her  in  his  most  brilliant  vein.  Hermia 
listened  with  the  most  complex  sensations  of  her 
life.  The  predominating  one  at  first  was  intense 
mortification.  There  was  no  danger  of  this  man 
blowing  out  his  brains  for  any  woman.  She  was 
rather  the  most  agreeable  woman  he  knew  just 
then,  but — there  were  plenty  of  others  in  the 
world.  Then  her  brain  and  her  philosophy  came 
to  her  aid,  and  she  began  to  be  amused.  She 
had  always  been  able  to  laugh  at  her  own  expense, 


Hermia  Suydam.  115 

and  she  indulged  in  a  little  private  burst  whilst 
Cryder  was  reciting  a  graphic  passage  from  his 
lately  finished  book.  The  laugh  added  several 
years  to  her  twenty-five,  but  on  the  whole,  she 
concluded,  it  did  her  good. 

Then  she  began  to  reason  :  Why  break  it  off  ? 
He  is  the  most  agreeable  man  I  have  ever  known  ; 
why  lose  him  ?  If  I  dismiss  him  thus  cavalierly, 
he  will  be  piqued  at  least,  and  I  shall  not  even 
have  his  friendship.  And  I  can  never  love  or  have 
a  throb  of  real  feeling.  All  that  was  the  delu- 
sion of  a  morbid  imagination.  There  are  no  men 
like  those  I  have  dreamed  of.  The  ocean  rolls 
between  the  actual  and  the  ideal. 

She  did  Cryder  some  injustice  in  the  earlier 
part  of  her  meditations.  He  was  really  very  fond 
of  her.  There  were  many  things  about  her  that 
he  liked  immensely.  She  was  beautiful,  she 
was  artistic,  she  had  a  fine  mind,  and,  above  all 
things,  she  was  the  fashion,  and  he  had  carried 
her  off.  But  he  never  rushed  at  a  woman  and 
kissed  her  the  moment  he  entered  the  room  ;  he 
did  not  think  it  good  taste.  Moreover,  she  looked 
particularly  handsome  in  that  black-velvet  gown 
and  stiff  white  ruff,  and  her  position  in  that 
carved,  high-backed  chair  was  superb.  His  eye 
was  too  well  pleased  to  allow  the  interference  of 
his  other  senses.  After  a  time  he  went  over  and 
lifted  her  face  and  kissed  her.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  a  little  but  made  no  resistance. 


ii6  Hermia  Suydam, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

TASTELESS    FRUIT. 

She  began  to  have  an  absurdly  married  feeling. 
When  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  drift  on  the 
wave  she  had  chosen,  she  had  consoled  herself 
with  the  thought  that,  if  love  was  a  disappoint- 
ment, the  situation  was  romantic.  By  constantly 
reminding  herself  that  she  was  the  heroine  of  "  an 
experience,"  she  could  realize  in  part  her  old  wild 
dreams.  To  create  objective  illusion  was  a  task 
she  soon  renounced.  No  matrimonial  conditions 
were  ever  more  prosaic  and  matter-of-fact  than 
the  various  phases  of  this  affair. 

The  evenings  were  long  and  very  pleasant. 
Cryder  smoked  innumerable  cigarettes  in  the  most 
comfortable  chair  in  the  library,  and  was  never 
dull.  Hermia  began  to  get  rather  fond  of  him  in 
a  motherly  sort  of  way.  One  night  he  had  a  cold 
and  she  gave  him  a  dose  of  quinine  ;  occasionally 
she  sent  him  certain  of  her  cook's  dainty  concoc- 
tions. She  always  had  a  little  supper  for  him  on 
his  particular  evenings,  and  took  care  that  his 
favorite  dishes  were  prepared. 

She  had  her  intervals   of  disgust  and  fury  with 


Hermia  Suydam.  117 

fate,  but  they  were  becoming  less  frequent.  Like 
all  tragic  and  unversed  women  she  was  an  extrem- 
ist. She  had  dreamed  that  life  was  one  thing  ; 
her  particular  episode  had  taught  her  that  it  was 
another.  There  was  no  medium  nor  opposite 
pole  ;  she  had  been  wrong  in  every  theory. 

Ennui  was  her  worst  enemy.  Sometimes  she 
got  tired  of  the  very  sound  of  Cryder's  voice — it 
ceased  so  seldom.  She  longed  for  variety  of  any 
sort,  for  something  to  assure  her  that  she  was  not 
as  flatly  married  as  Bessie  and  her  husband. 
One  day  when  she  was  more  bored  than  usual 
Helen  Simms  came  in. 

"  How  brilliant  you  look  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Ennui ;  life  is  a  burden." 

"  Where  is  Ogden  Cryder  ?  I  thought  he  had 
put  ennui  to  flight." 

"He  is  charming,"  said  Hermia,  "and  I  am 
having  that  flirtation  with  him  that  you  advised  ; 
but  even  that  is  getting  a  little  monotonous." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  you  want,"  exclaimed 
Helen,  decidedly.  "  You  want  to  see  something 
of  the  champagne  side  of  life.  You  have  had 
enough  of  a  flirtation  by  a  library  fire  in  a  feudal 
room  ;  it  is  time  you  did  something  a  little  more 
risqu^f  Get  Mr.  Cryder  to  take  you  to  some 
awfully  wicked  place  to  dine — some  place  which 
would  mean  social  ostracism  were  you  found  out 
— only  you  mustn't  be  found  out.    There  is  noth- 


ii8  Her?nia  Suydam. 

ing  actually  wrong  in  it,  and  the  danger  gives  one 
the  most  delightful  sensation." 

Hermia  elevated  her  nose.  **  I  hate  anything 
*  fast,'  "  she  said.  "  I  prefer  to  keep  out  of  that 
sort  of  atmospliere." 

'*  Oh,  nonsense  !  It  is  the  spice  of  life  ;  the 
spice  without  the  vulgarity.  To  have  all  the 
appearance  of  being  quite  wicked,  and  yet  to  be 
actually  as  innocent  as  a  lamb — what  more  stimu- 
lating ?  It  is  the  only  thing  which  has  saved  my 
valuable  life.  I  always  amuse  myself  picturing 
how  poor  papa  would  look  if  he  should  suddenly 
descend  upon  me.  Then  after  the  dinner  take  a 
drive  through  the  park  in  a  hansom — at  mid- 
night !  You  quite  feel  as  if  you  were  eloping  ; 
and  yet — with  none  of  the  disagreeable  conse- 
quences. You  elope,  and  that  is  the  end  of  you. 
You  drive  through  the  park  in  a  hansom,  and  go 
home  and  to  bed  like  a  good  little  girl.  The 
next  week — you  drive  through  the  park  in  another 
hansom.  Then  you  feel  that  life  is  worth  living. 
Some  night  you  and  Mr.  Cryder,  Mr.  Winston 
and  myself  will  have  a  tear." 

*'  No  !  "  exclaimed  Hermia  ;  ''  I  abominate  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  I  will  not  go." 

But  Helen,  unconsciously,  had  appalled  her. 
Was  there  no  other  escape  from  ennui  ?  What  a 
prospect !  Mrs.  Dykman  had  promised  to  take 
her  to  Europe.  She  determined  to  make  that 
lady  hasten  her  plans  and  go  at  once. 


Hermia  Suydam.  119 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A    COMMONPLACE    MEETING. 

QuiNTARD,  after  an  absence  of  five  years,  had 
returned  to  New  York  to  find  Hermia  Suydam 
the  sensation  of  the  year.  He  saw  her  first  at 
the  MetropoHtan  Opera-House,  and,  overhearing 
some  people  discussing  her,  followed  the  direction 
of  their  glances.  She  had  never  looked  more 
radiant.  Her  hair  shone  across  the  house  like 
burnished  brass  ;  her  eyes  had  the  limpid  brill- 
iancy of  emicralds,  and  the  black  lashes  lay  heavy 
above  and  below  them  ;  her  skin  was  like  ivory 
against  which  pomegranate  pulp  had  been  crushed, 
and  her  mouth  was  as  red  as  a  cactus-flower.  Her 
neck  and  arms  and  a  portion  of  her  bust  were 
uncovered.  Although  it  was  a  first  night  and 
most  of  her  sister  belles  were  present,  her  peculiar, 
somewhat  barbaric  beauty  glittered  like  a  planet 
in  a  firmament  of  stars. 

Qaintard  left  his  seat  at  the  end  of  the  second 
act  and  walked  back  and  forth  in  the  lobby  until 
he  met  Ralph  Embury. 

*'  Do  you  know  Miss  Suydam  ?  "  he  asked  the 
lively  little  journalist. 


I20  Hermia  Suydam. 

Embury  hastened  to  assure  him  that  he  had  the 
honor  of  Miss  Suydam's  acquaintance. 

''Then  introduce  me,"  said  Quintard. 

Embury  went  at  once  to  ask  Miss  Suydam's 
permission  for  the  desired  presentation,  and,  re- 
turning in  a  few  moments,  told  Quintard  to  follow 
him.  Cryder  gave  his  chair  to  Quintard,  and 
Hermia  v/as  very  gracious.  She  talked  in  a  low, 
full  voice  as  individual  as  her  beauty — a  voice 
that  suggested  the  possibility  of  increasing  to 
infinite  volume  of  sound — a  voice  that  might 
shake  a  hearer  with  its  passion,  or  grow  hoarse  as 
a  sea  in  a  storm.  Quintard  had  never  heard  just 
such  a  voice  before,  but  he  decided — why,  he  did 
not  define — that  the  voice  suited  its  owner. 

She  said  nothing  beyond  the  small-talk  born  of 
the  conditions  of  the  moment,  but  she  gave  him 
food  for  speculation,  nevertheless.  Had  it  not 
been  absurd,  he  would  have  said  that  twice  a  look 
of  unmistakable  terror  flashed  through  her  eyes. 
She  was  looking  steadily  at  him  upon  both  occa- 
sions— once  he  was  remarking  that  he  was  de- 
lighted to  get  back  to  America,  and  again  that  he 
had  last  seen  Tannhauser  at  Bayreuth. 

He  was  also  perplexed  by  a  vague  sense  of 
unreality  about  her.  What  it  meant  he  could  not 
define ;  she  was  not  an  adventuress,  nor  was  her 
beauty  artificial.  While  he  was  working  at  his 
problems  the  curtain  went  down  on  the  third  act, 
and   she   rose   to   go.     She  held  out  her  hand  to 


Hermia  Suydam.  121 

him  with  a  frank  smile  and  said  good-night. 
When  she  had  put  on  her  wraps  she  bent  her 
head  to  him  again  and  went  out  of  the  door. 
Then  she  turned  abruptly  and  walked  quickly 
back  to  him.  The  color  had  spread  over  her 
face,  but  the  expression  of  terror  had  not  re- 
turned to  her  eyes.     They  were  almost  defiant. 

"  Come  and  see  me,"  she  said  quickly. 

He  bowed.  "I  shall  be  delighted,"  he  mur- 
mured ;  but  she  left  before  he  had  finished. 

"She  is  lovely,"  he  thought,  "but  how  odd! 
What  is  the  matter  with  her  1 " 


122  Hertnia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BACK    TO    THE    PAST. 

Hermia  gave  a  little  supper  after  the  opera,  and, 
when  the  last  guest  had  gone,  she  went  up  to  her 
room  and  sank  down  in  a  heap  before  her  bedroom 
fire.  As  she  stared  at  the  coals,  the  terrified  look 
came  back  to  her  eyes  and  remained  there.  She 
had  received  a  shock.  And  yet  Quintard  had  only 
uttered  a  dozen  sentences,  and  these  she  could 
not  recall.  And  she  had  never  seen  him  before. 
Had  not  she  ?  She  closed  her  eyes.  Once  more 
she  was  in  her  little  Brooklyn  room  ;  that  room 
had  been  transformed  *  *  *  and  she  was  not 
alone.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  gave  a  quick 
glance  about  her,  then  plunged  her  head  between 
her  knees  and  clasped  her  hands  about  the  back 
of  it.  She  must  conjure  up  some  other  setting 
from  that  strange,  far-away  past  of  hers — one  that 
had  never  been  reproduced  in  this  house.  There 
had  been  splendid  forests  in  those  old  domains  of 
hers,  forests  which  harbored  neither  tigers  nor 
panthers,  bulbuls  nor  lotus-lilies.  Only  the  wind 
sighed  through  them,  or  the  stately  deer  stalked 
down    their    dim,  cool  aisles.      Once   more   she 


Hermia  Suydam.  123 

drifted  from  the  present.  He  was  there,  that 
lover  of  her  dreams  ;  she  lay  in  his  arms  ;  his  lips 
were  at  her  throat.  How  long  and  how  faithfully 
she  had  loved  him  !  Every  apple  on  the  tree  of 
life  they  had  eaten  together.  And  how  cavalierly 
she  had  dismissed  him  !  how  deliberately  forgot- 
ten him  !  She  had  not  thought  of  him  for  months 
— until  to-night. 

She  raised  her  head  with  abrupt  impatience  and 
scowled.  What  folly  !  How  many  men  had  not 
she  met  with  black  hair  and  dark-blue  eyes  and 
athletic  frames  ?  What  woman  ever  really  met 
her  ideal  ?  But — there  had  been  something  be- 
sides physical  resemblance  of  build  and  color.  A 
certain  power  had  shone  through  his  eyes,  a  cer- 
tain magnetism  had  radiated  from  him — she  shud- 
dered, threw  herself  back  on  the  rug,  and  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  hands.     To  meet  him  now  ! 


124  Hermia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

QUINTARD    IS    DISCUSSED. 

The  next  afternoon  Hermia  was  sitting  in  the 
library  with  Miss  Starbruck  when  Helen  came  in. 
Hermia  greeted  her  eagerly.  Helen  always 
diverted  her  mind.  Perversely,  also,  she  wanted 
to  hear  some  one  speak  of  Quintard. 

"  I  have  only  a  few  moments,"  said  Helen.  "  I 
told  Mr.  Winston  to  call  for  me  at  four.  We  are 
going  to  find  a  place  to  walk  where  we  shall  not 
meet  everybody  we  know ."  She  stopped  sud- 
denly as  she  caught  sight  of  Miss  Starbruck's 
gray,  erect  figure  and  shocked  expression.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Starbruck,"  she  said, 
sweetly  ;  "  I  did  not  see  you." 

"  Why  do  you  object  to  meeting  people  you 
know  when  you  walk  with  young  men  ? "  de- 
manded Miss  Starbruck,  severely. 

Helen,  by  this  time,  had  quite  recovered  her 
presence  of  mind.  "Oh  !  they  always  want  to  stop 
and  talk,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  and  that  is  such  a 
bore."  Then  she  turned  to  Hermia :  "  I  saw 
Grettan  Quintard  in  your  box  last  night.  Did 
you  ever  hear  such  a  name  ?     As  hard  as  a  rock  ! 


Hermia  Suydam.  125 

But  I  imagine  it  suits  him — although  he  felt  pretty 
bad  five  years  ago." 

"What  about?"  demanded  Hermia. 

"  You  never  heard  that  story  ?  But,  to  be  sure, 
that  was  before  your  time.  He  was  awfully  in 
love  with  Mrs.  Theodore  Maitland — one  of  the 
prettiest  women  in  town — and  she  with  him. 
Everybody  was  talking,  and  finally  Mr.  Maitland 
found  it  out.  He  was  very  cool  about  it  ;  he 
calmly  went  down  town  to  a  lawyer  and  told  him 
to  begin  proceedings  for  a  divorce.  He  sent  for 
his  things  and  took  rooms  at  a  hotel.  Everybody 
cut  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  she  felt  so  horrible  that 
she  killed  herself.  Quintard  was  fearfully  upset. 
He  went  abroad  at  once  and  staid  five  years. 
This  is  his  first  reappearance." 

"  A  true  nineteenth-century  romance  !  "  ex- 
claimed Hermia,  sarcastically.  "  An  intrigue,  a 
divorce  court,  and  a  suicide  ! "  But  she  had 
listened  with  a  feeling  of  dull  jealousy,  and  the 
absurdity  of  it  angered  her.  Her  imagination  had 
made  a  fool  of  her  often  enough  ;  was  she  about 
to  weakly  yield  herself  to  its  whip  again  ?  What 
was  Quintard  or  his  past  to  her  ?  "  I  rather  liked 
his  face,"  she  added,  indifferently.  "Did  you 
know  him  before  he  went  away  ?  " 

*•  Only  by  sight.  I  was  not  out.  For  the  mat- 
ter of  that  he  went  out  very  little  himself  until 
the  Mrs.  Maitland  episode.  He  cared  nothing 
for  society,  and  only  went  into  it  to  be  with  her. 


126  Hcrmia  Suydam. 

He  wasn't  even  very  much  of  a  club  man,  and  had 
few  intimates.  I  met  him  the  other  night  at  Mrs. 
Trennor-Secor's  dinner,  and  he  took  me  in.  I 
can't  say  I  care  much  for  hi^n  ;  he's  too  quiet. 
But  he  is  awfully  good-looking,  and  has  great  dis- 
tinction. It  is  time,"  she  added,  glancing  at  the 
clock,  "  for  Mr.  Winston  to  appear." 

"  Are  you  engaged  to  that  young  man  ? "  asked 
Miss  Starbruck. 

Helen  stared.  "  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said,  with  a  little 
laugh  ;   "  he  is  only  my  first  infant-in-waiting." 

The  "infant"  arrived  as  she  spoke.  He  was  a 
mild,  blonde,  inoffensive-looking  youth,  so  faith- 
ful to  his  type  that  it  was  difficult  to  remember 
him  by  name  until  closer  acquaintance  had 
called  out  his  little  individualities.  He  had  his 
importance  and  use,  however  ;  he  knew  how  to 
get  up  and  carry  off  a  ball.  He  even  attended 
to  the  paying  of  the  bills  when  husbands  were  too 
busy  or  had  moved  to  Greenwood.  He  had 
saved  Hermia  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  she 
rewarded  him  by  taking  him  to  the  theater  occa- 
sionally. He  admired  her  in  a  distant,  awe-struck 
way,  much  as  a  pug  admires  the  moon  ;  but  he 
preferred  Helen  Simms. 

**  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  rather  cold  for 
walking,"  he  said  to  Helen,  with  his  nationally 
incorrect  imitation  of  English  drawl  and  accent. 
**  It  is  quite  beastly  out,  don't  you  know  1 '' 

"Yes,"    said   Helen,  "I  know;    but  you  will 


Hermia  Suydain.  127 

have  to  stand  it.  Good-bye,  Hermia.  A  walk 
would  not  hurt  you ;  you  are  looking  pale." 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  let  me  sit  down  for  a 
moment  ?  "  asked  Winston. 

"  No,  it  is  getting  late  ;  and,  besides,  Hermia 
doesn't  want  you.     Come." 

They  went  out,  and  Miss  Starbruck  remarked  : 
"  That  is  the  average  man  of  to-day,  I  suppose. 
They  were  different  when  I  was  young." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  that  is  not  the  average  man,"  said 
Hermia  ;  "  that  is  only  the  average  society  man. 
They  are  two  distinct  species,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  I  prefer  him  to  that  dread- 
ful Mr.  Quintard.  I  hope  he  will  not  come  to 
this  house,  Hermia." 

"  Oh,  I  have  invited  him,"  said  Hermia,  indif- 
ferently. *'  He  shines  beside  some  who  come 
here,  if  you  did  but  know  it." 

"  Then  I  am  thankful  I  do  not  know  it," 
exclaimed  Miss  Starbruck.  "  I  think  I  will  go 
up-stairs  and  talk  to  Miss  Newton." 

"  No,"  said  Hermia,  "  stay  and  talk  to  me.  I 
am  bored  !     I  hate  to  be  alone  !     Sit  down." 


128  Hertnia  Suydam. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PLATONIC    PROSPECTS. 

She  met  Quintard  the  next  afternoon  at  a  tea. 
She  was  standing  with  a  group  of  people  when  he 
joined  her.  After  a  moment  he  asked  her  to  go 
over  to  the  other  side  of  the  room  and  talk  to  him. 
She  was  somewhat  amused  at  his  directness,  but 
went  with  him  to  a  sofa  and  ignored  the  rest  of 
the  company  for  a  half-hour. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  she  drew  a  long  sigh  of 
relief.  He  was  not  her  ideal ;  he  was  common- 
place. He  talked  very  well,  but  with  none  of 
Cryder's  brilliancy.  He  was  even  a  little  didactic, 
a  quality  she  detested.  And  he  had  none  of  the 
tact  of  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world.  She 
was  not  surprised  to  hear  that  he  had  not  been  to 
five  entertainments  in  as  many  years.  There  was 
no  subtle  flattery  in  his  manner ;  he  did  not 
appear  to  take  any  personal  interest  in  her  what- 
ever ;  sometimes  he  appeared  inattentive  to  what 
she  was  saying.  She  wondered  why  he  had  insisted 
upon  talking  to  her.  Moreover,  he  was  cold,  and 
coldness  and  her  ideal  had  never  shaken  hands. 
He  looked  as  if  nothing  could  move  that  calm 
self-control,  that  slow,  somewhat  stiff  formality. 


Hermia  Suydam.  129 

She  saw  him  several  times  during  the  next  two 
weeks,  but  never  alone.  In  the  mean  time  she 
heard  much  of  him.  His  personal  appearance, 
his  wealth,  his  exile  and  its  cause,  made  him  an 
interesting  figure,  and  people  began  to  remember 
and  compare  all  the  tales  regarding  him  which 
had  floated  across  the  Atlantic  during  the  last  five 
years.  These  tales  were  of  a  highly  adventurous 
nature,  and  were  embroidered  and  fringed. 

Quintard  was  not  very  grateful.  He  went  out 
seldom,  and  got  away  as  soon  as  he  could.  This, 
of  course,  made  people  wonder  what  he  was  doing. 

Hermia  heard  all  these  stories  with  some  sur- 
prise. They  seemed  so  incongruous  with  the 
man.  Assuredly  there  was  neither  romance  nor 
love  of  adventure  in  him  ;  he  was  quite  matter- 
of-fact  ;  he  might  have  been  a  financier.  She 
thought,  however,  that  he  had  humor  enough  to 
be  amused  at  the  stories  he  had  inspired. 

One  evening  he  found  her  alone.  The  night 
was  cold,  and  she  was  sitting  in  a  heap  in  a  big 
arm-chair  by  the  fire,  huddled  up  in  a  soft,  bright, 
Japanese  gown.  She  did  not  rise  as  he  entered, 
and  he  looked  at  her  calmly  and  took  a  seat  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hearth. 

"You  look  comfortable,"  he  said.  "Those 
gowns  are  the  warmest  things  in  the  world.  I 
have  one  that  I  wear  when  I  sit  by  the  fire  all 
night  and  think.  If  my  dinner  does  not  agree  with 
me,  I  do  not  sleep  like  a  lamb." 
9 


130  Hermia  Suydam, 

This  was  romantic  !  Hermia  had  a  fine  con- 
tempt for  people  who  recognized  the  existence  of 
their  internal  organs.  She  raised  her  brows. 
"  Why  do  you  eat  too  much  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Because  I  happen  to  feel  like  it  at  the  time. 
The  philosophy  of  life  is  to  resist  as  few  tempta- 
tions as  you  conveniently  can.  I  have  made  it  a 
habit  to  resist  but  three." 

"And  they  are?" 

"  To  tell  a  woman  I  love  her,  to  make  love  to 
the  wife  of  a  friend,  and  to  have  a  girl  on  my 
conscience.  The  latter  is  a  matter  of  comfort, 
not  of  principle.  The  girl  of  to-day  nibbles  the 
apple  with  her  eyes  wide  open." 

Hermia  did  not  know  whether  she  was  angry 
or  not.  Her  experience  with  Cryder  had  affected 
her  peculiarly.  He  had  the  super-refinement  of 
all  artificial  natures,  and  there  had  been  nothing 
in  his  influence  to  coarsen  the  fiber  of  her  mind. 
Moreover,  he  had  barely  ruffled  the  surface  of  her 
nature.  She  always  had  a  strange  feeling  of  stand- 
ing outside  of  herself,  of  looking  speculatively  on 
while  the  material  and  insignificant  part  of  her 
"  played  at  half  a  love  with  half  a  lover." 

She  was  not  used  to  such  abrupt  statements, 
but  she  was  too  much  interested  to  change  the 
conversation. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  never  tell  a  woman 
when  you  love  her  ? "  she  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"  If  I  loved  a  woman  I  should  tell  her  so,  of 


Hermia  Suydam.  131 

course.  I  make  it  a  principle  never  to  tell  a 
woman  that  I  love  her,  because  I  never  do.  It 
saves  trouble  and  reproaches." 

Hermia  leaned  forward.  "  Did  not  you  love 
Mrs.  Maitland  .''  "  she  asked. 

The  color  mounted  to  Quintard's  face. 

*'  My  dear  Miss  Suydam,  this  is  the  nineteenth 
century — the  latter  quarter.  Love  of  that  sort  is 
an  episode,  a  detached  link."  He  leaned  for- 
ward and  smiled.  "  I  suppose  you  think  I  talk 
like  the  villain  in  the  old-fashioned  novel,"  he 
said.  "  But  codes  of  all  sorts  have  their  evolu- 
tions and  modifications.  The  heroes  of  the  past 
would  cut  a  ridiculous  figure  in  the  civilization  of 
to-day.  I  am  not  a  villain.  I  "am  merely  a  man 
of  my  prosaic  times." 

It  was  as  she  had  thought — no  romance,  no 
love  of  the  past.  But  the  man  had  a  certain 
power ;  there  was  no  denying  that.  And  his 
audacity  and  brutal  frankness,  so  different  from 
Cryder's  cold-blooded  acting,  fascinated  her. 

"Oh,  no!  I  do  not  think  you  a  villain,"  she 
said  ;  "  only  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  had 
the  cruelty  to " 

"  I  am  inclined  to  be  faithful,  Miss  Suydam," 
he  interrupted.  "  In  my  extreme  youth  it  was  the 
reverse,  but  experience  has  taught  me  to  appre- 
ciate and  to  hold  on  to  certain  qualities  v/hen  I 
find  them — for  in  combination  they  are  rare. 
When  one  comes  to  the  cross-roads,  and  shakes 


132  Her  mi  a  Suydam. 

hands  good-bye  with  Youth,  his  departing  comrade 
gives  him  a  little  packet.  The  packet  is  full  of 
seeds,  and  the  label  is  'philosophy.'  " 

"  I  found  that  packet  long  before  I  got  to  the 
cross-roads,"  said  Hermia,  with  a  laugh — *'  that 
is,  if  I  ever  had  any  youth.      How  old  are  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  only  thirty-four  as  yet.  But  I  got  to  the 
cross-roads  rather  early.  What  do  you  mean  by 
saying  that  you  never  had  any  youth  ? " 

''  Nothing.  Are  all  those  European  stories 
about  you  true  ?  " 

"  What  stories  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  all  those  stories  about  women.  They  say 
you  have  had  the  most  dreadful  adventures." 

Quintard  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  don't  know 
what  the  stories  are,"  he  said.  "  Nor  do  I  particu- 
larly care.  I  am  not  posing  as  a  masculine  Circe 
or  a  destroyer  of  households.  You  must  remember 
that  there  are  more  than  two  classes  of  women  in 
the  world.  There  are  many  women  who  are  with- 
out any  particular  ties,  who  live  a  drifting,  Bohe- 
mian sort  of  existence,  who  may  have  belonged  to 
society  once,  but  have  exhausted  it,  and  prefer 
the  actualities  of  life.  These  women  are  gener- 
ally the  most  companionable  in  every  respect. 
And  they  are  more  or  less  indifferent  to  public 
opinion." 

"  I  was  sure  of  one  thing  !  "  exclaimed  Hermia  ; 
"  but,  if  possible,  you  have  made  me  more  sure  : 
you  have  not  a  spark  of  romance  in  you." 


Hermia  Suydam.  133 

An  expression  of  shyness  crossed  Quintard's 
face,  and  he  hesitated  a  moment. 

*'  Oh,  well,  you  know,  nobody  has  in  these 
days,"  he  said,  awkwardly.  "  What  would  people 
do  with  romance  ?  They  would  never  find  any 
one  to  share  it." 

*'No,"  said  Hermia,  with  a  laugh,  "probably 
they  would  not," 

He  went  away  soon  after,  and  she  did  not  see 
him  again  for  a  week.  Cryder  came  the  next 
night,  and  Hermia  had  never  liked  him  less.  He 
was  as  entertaining  as  usual,  but  he  was  more 
like  highly-charged  mineral  water  than  ever.  He 
spoke  of  his  personal  adventures  ;  they  were  tame 
and  flat.  Nothing  he  said  could  grasp  her,  hold 
her.  He  seemed  merely  an  embodied  intellect,  a 
clever,  bloodless  egoist,  babbling  eternally  about 
his  little  self.  As  she  sat  opposite  him,  she  won- 
dered how  she  had  managed  to  stand  him  so  long. 
She  was  glad  Quintard  had  come  to  relieve  the 
monotony.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  she  v/ould 
care  to  have  for  a  friend. 


134  Hermia  Suydam, 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

AN    UNEXPECTED    CONFESSION. 

She  met  Quintard  next  at  one  of  Mrs.  Dyk- 
man's  ??iusicales.  That  fashionable  lady  was  fond 
of  entertaining,  and  Hermia  was  delighted  to  pay 
the  bills.  If  it- pleased  Mrs.  Dykman  to  have  her 
entertainments  in  her  own  house  rather  than  in  the 
mansion  on  Second  Avenue,  she  should  be  grati- 
fied, and  Winston  never  betrayed  family  secrets. 

People  were  very  glad  to  go  to  Mrs.  Dykman's 
house.  She  never  had  any  surprises  for  them,  but 
they  always  went  away  feeling  that  her  evening 
had  been  one  of  the  successes  of  the  season.  In 
her  palmier  days  she  had  done  much  entertaining, 
and  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world.  She  had  been 
a  beauty  in  her  youth,  and  was  still  so  handsome 
that  people  forgot  to  insult  her  by  calling  her 
*' well  preserved."  If  her  hair  had  turned  gray, 
the  world  never  found  it  out ;  she  wore  a  dark- 
brown  wig  which  no  one  but  her  maid  had  ever  seen 
elsewhere  than  on  her  head ;  and  her  unfathom- 
able gray  eyes  had  not  a  wrinkle  about  them.  She 
still  carried  her  head  with  the  air  of  one  who  has 
had  much  incense  offered  her,  and,  although  her 


Hermia  Suydam.  135 

repose  amounted  to  monotony,  it  was  very  impress- 
ive. She  had  grown  stout,  but  every  curve  of 
her  gowns,  every  arrangement  of  draperies,  lied  as 
gracefully  and  conclusively  as  a  diplomatist.  She 
was  one  of  the  few  women  upon  whom  Quintard 
ever  called,  and  he  was  a  great  pet  of  hers. 

"  She  may  not  be  an  intellectual  woman,"  he 
said  to  Hermia,  on  this  night  of  the  musicale^  "but 
she  has  learned  enough  in  her  life  to  make  up  for 
it.  I  have  seldom  met  a  more  interesting  woman. 
If  she  were  twenty  years  younger,  I'd  ask  her  to 
marry  and  knock  about  the  world  with  me." 

"  Yes  ?  I  suppose  you  find  the  intellectual  a 
good  deal  of  a  bore,  do  you  not  ? " 

"  Was  that  a  shot  ?  By  itself,  emphatically  yes 
— a  hideous  bore.  When  combined  with  one  or 
two  other  things,  most  eagerly  to  be  welcomed." 

"What  other  things  ?" 

"  Oh,  womanliness  and  savoir — but,  primarily, 
passion." 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  very  frank?"  ex- 
claimed Hermia. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  humbly.  "  I  have  a  bad 
habit  of  saying  what  I  think,  and,  besides,  I  feel  a 
doubly  strong  impulse  to  be  frank  with  you.  I 
abominate  girls  as  a  rule  ;  I  never  talk  to  them. 
But  I  have  rather  a  feeling  of  good  comradeship 
with  you.  It  always  seems  as  if  you  understood^ 
and  it  never  occurs  to  me  that  I  can  make  a  mis- 
take with  you.     You  are  quite  unlike  other  girls. 


13^  Hermia  Suydam. 

You  have  naturally  a  broad  mind.  Do  not  delib- 
erately contract  it." 

"  No,"  said  Hermia,  quite  mollified,  "  I  have  no 
desire  to ;  and,  for  some  peculiar  reason,  what  you 
say  may  startle  but  it  never  offends.  You  have  a 
way  of  carrying  things  off." 

After  the  music  and  supper  were  over,  Hermia 
sat  with  him  awhile  up-stairs  in  her  aunt's  boudoir. 

''  Have  you  idled  away  your  whole  life  ?  "  she 
asked.     ''  Do  you  never  intend  to  do  anything  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  doing  nothing  to  spend  five 
years  in  the  study  of  Europe  ?  " 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  all  ?  Just 
keep  it  in  your  head  ?  " 

"What  would  you  have  me  do  with  it  ?  Put  it 
in  a  book  and  inflict  it  on  the  world  ?  " 

"Yes.  Give  yourself  some  definite  object  in 
life.  I  have  no  respect  for  people  who  just  drift 
along — who  have  no  ambition  nor  aim." 

''Well,  I  will  tell  you  something  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  betray  me,"  he  said,  quickly  :  "  I 
am  writing  a  book." 

"No?"  exclaimed  Hermia.  "Actually?  Tell 
me  about  it.     Is  it  a  novel  ?  a  book  of  travels  ?  " 

"  Neither.  It  is  a  series  of  lives  of  certain 
knights  of  Norman  days  about  whom  there  are 
countless  fragmentary  legends,  but  nothing  has 
ever  been  written.  I  am  making  a  humble  en- 
deavor to  reproduce  these  legends  in  the  style  and 
vernacular  of  the  day  and  in  blank  verse.    Imagine 


Hermia  Suydam.  137 

a  band  of  old  knights,  broken-down  warriors, 
hunted  to  the  death,  and  hiding  in  a  ruined  castle. 
To  while  away  the  time  they  relate  their  youthful 
deeds  of  love  and  war.     Do  you  like  the  idea  ?  " 

Hermia  leaned  forward  with  her  eyes  expanded 
to  twice  their  natural  size.  ''  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me,"  she  said,  ''  that  you  care  for  the  past — that 
its  romance  appeals  to  you  ? " 

Quintard  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and 
raised  his  eyebrows  a  little.  "  I  have  gone  so  far, 
I  may  as  well  confess  the  whole  thing,"  he  said. 
*'  I  would  have  lived  in  the  feudal  ages  if  I  could. 
Love  and  war  !  That  is  all  man  was  made  for. 
Everything  he  has  acquired  since  is  artificial  and 
in  the  way.  He  has  lost  the  faculty  of  enjoying 
life  since  he  has  imagined  he  must  have  so  much 
to  enjoy  it  with.  Let  a  man  live  for  two  passions, 
and  he  is  happy.  Let  him  have  twenty  ways  of 
amusing  himself,  and  he  lowers  his  capacity  for 
enjoying  any  one  in  the  endeavor  to  patronize 
them  all." 

Hermia  remembered  her  experience  with  Cry- 
der.  He  had  talked  very  beautifully  of  the  past — 
once.  Life  was  making  her  skeptical.  ''  Have 
you  written  any  of  your  book  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  it  is  nearly  done." 

"  Would  you  let  m.e  see  it  ?  Or  is  that  asking 
too  much  ?  But — that  period  of  history  particu- 
larly interests  me.     I  used  to  live  in  it." 

"  Did   you  ?      I  should  be  very  glad  to  have 


138  Hermia  Suydam. 

you  read  my  effusions  ;  but  wading  through  man- 
uscript is  a  frightful  bore." 

''  I  have  waded  through  a  good  deal,"  said 
Hermia,  briefly.  "  Bring  it  to-morrow  night. 
No  " — she  had  suddenly  recollected  that  the  next 
was  Cryder's  evening.  "Bring  it  the  next  night — 
no— the  next.     Will  that  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Quintard.  "■  I  will  afflict  you, 
with  great  pleasure,  if  you  will  let  me." 

When  they  went  down-stairs,  Mrs.  Dykman 
wrapped  Hermia's  furs  more  closely  about  her. 
"I  hope,  my  dear,"  she  murmured,  "you  do  not 
mind  that  the  whole  house  is  talking  about  you. 
Do  you  know  that  Mr.  Quintard  is  the  only  man 
whom  you  have  condescended  to  notice  during 
the  entire  evening  ?  " 

"  No  ?  "  said  Hermia.  "  I  had  not  thought 
about  it.  No,  I  don't  mind.  A  woman  is  not 
happy  until  she  is  talked  about — just  a  little,  you 
know.  When  her  position  is  secure,  it  makes  her 
so  picturesque — quite  individual." 

"You  will  be  engaged  before  the  week  is  over. 
You  will  be  accused  of  having  deserted  Mr.  Cry- 
der,  and  entered  upon  a  more  desperate  flirtation 
yet.  The  ultra  caustic  will  remember  Grettan 
Quintard's  reputation." 

"  You  can  deny  the  engagement,"  said  Hermia. 


Herniia  Suydam.  139 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE    POWER    OF    PERSONALITY. 

A  FEW  evenings  later  Quintard  came  with  a 
portion  of  his  book,  which  he  had  had  type-writ- 
ten for  her.  While  he  amused  himself  with  the 
many  rare  volumes  on  the  library  shelves,  Her- 
mia  read  the  introduction  and  the  four  tales  with 
equal  interest  and  astonishment.  They  had  a 
vital  power  which  seemed  to  grip  her  mind  as  with 
a  palpable  hand  and  hold  it  until  she  had  read 
the  last  of  the  sheets.  Quintard  had  reproduced 
the  style  and  spirit  of  the  age  with  remarkable 
fidelity — the  unbridled  passions,  the  coarse  wit, 
the  stirring  deeds  of  valor.  He  made  no  attempt 
at  delicate  pathos  or  ideality.  When  a  man  suf- 
fered, he  raged  like  a  wounded  boar  ;  every  phase 
of  his  nature  was  portrayed  in  the  rough. 

Hermia  dropped  the  sheets  into  her  lap  and 
gazed  into  the  fire.  Her  opinion  of  Quintard  had 
quite  changed.  Why  did  she  not  love  him  ?  But 
she  did  not.  He  attracted  her  mentally,  and  his 
character  fascinated  her,  but  stone  could  not  be 
colder  than  her  heart.  Did  he  go  out  of  the 
room  that  moment  never  to  return,  she  would  not 


140  Her  mi  a  Suydam. 

care,  save  that  a  promising  friend  would  be  lost. 
He  had  come  too  late.  She  no  longer  possessed 
the  power  to  love.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
They  could  be  friends  ;  that  was  quite  enough. 

Her  comments  were  very  flattering  and  dis- 
criminating, and  he  was  much  gratified,  and  gave 
her  a  general  idea  of  the  rest  of  the  book.  She 
had  one  or  two  books  that  might  help  him,  and 
she  promised  to  send  them  to  his  rooms. 

"  You  are  a  remarkable  mixture,"  she  said,  in 
conclusion  ;  "  at  limes  you  seem  almost  prosaic, 
altogether  matter-of-fact.  When  I  first  met  you, 
I  decided  that  you  were  commonplace." 

*'  You  will  allow  a  man  to  have  two  sides,  at 
least,"  said  Quintard,  smiling.  "  I  cannot  always 
be  walking  on  the  ramparts  of  imagination.  I 
enjoy  being  prosaic  at  intervals,  and  there  are 
times  when  I  delight  to  take  a  hammer  and  smash 
my  ideals  to  atoms.  I  like  to  build  a  castle  and 
raze  it  with  a  platitude,  to  create  a  goddess  and 
paint  wrinkles  on  her  cheek,  to  go  up  among  the 
gods  and  guy  them  into  common  mortals,  to  kiss 
a  woman  and  smother  passion  with  a  jest." 
"  That  is  the  brutality  in  your  nature." 
"Yes,"  said  Quintard,  "  I  suppose  that  is  it." 
She  watched  him  for  a  moment.  He  had  taken 
a  chair  near  her  and  was  leaning  forward  looking 
at  the  fire,  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  his  chin  in  the 
cup  of  his  hand.  His  strong,  clean-cut  profile 
stood  out  like  a  bas-relief  against  the  dark  wood 


Hermia  Suydam.  141 

of  the  mantel.  The  squareness  of  his  jaw  and 
the  thickness  of  his  neck  indicated  the  intense 
vitality  of  his  organism ;  his  thick,  black  mus- 
tache overshadowed  a  mouth  heavy  and  deter- 
mined ;  his  dense,  fine  hair  clung  about  a  head  of 
admirable  lines  ;  and  his  blue  eyes  were  very  dark 
and  piercing.  He  had  the  long,  clean-limbed, 
sinewy  figure  of  a  trained  athlete,  and  there  was 
not  an  ounce  of  superfluous  flesh  on  it.  He  com- 
bined the  best  of  the  old  world's  beauty  with  the 
best  of  the  new,  and  Hermia  looked  at  him  with 
a  curious  mixture  of  national  and  personal  pride. 

"I  like  brutality,"  she  said,  abstractedly;  "all 
the  great  men  of  the  world  had  it."  She  turned 
to  him  suddenly.  "  You  look  as  if  you  always 
got  whatever  you  made  up  your  mind  to  have," 
she  said.     "  Do  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  usually." 


14'  Hermia  Suydam, 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

HERMIA  HEARS  THE  TRUTH. 

He  called  one  morning  soon  after  and  spent  the 
entire  day  with  her.  He  had  finished  the  last  of 
the  stories  and  he  read  it  to  her.  The  tale  was  a 
tragic  one,  and  had  a  wild,  savage  pathos  in  it. 
It  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  at  the  climax 
she  leaned  forward  with  a  gasp. 

"  Oh,  you  can  cry?  "  said  Quintard. 

"  It  is  only  nervousness,"  hastily.  "  I  never  do. 
I  may  have  been  able  to  once,  but  I  no  longer 
possess  feeling  of  any  sort.  Don't  think  that  I  am 
ridiculous  and  blase  ;  it  is  simply  that  I  cannot 
take  any  personal  interest  in  life.  I  have  made 
the  discovery  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  a  little 
sooner  than  most  people — that  is  all." 

"You  are  a  little  crazy,'  said  Quintard.  "You 
will  get  over  it." 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  roots  of  Hermia's 
hair,  and  her  eyes  looked  as  fierce  as  if  she  were 
one  of  Quintard's  barbarians.  She  felt  more  anger 
than  she  cared  to  betray.  No  other  man  living 
would  have  dared  make  such  a  speech  to  her. 
Cryder  would  have  humored  her,  and  she  had 
expected  Quintard  to  be  suitably  impressed. 


Hertnia  Suydam,  143 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  an 
effort  at  control. 

He  looked  at  her  unmoved.  ''  You  have  a 
great  many  ridiculous  notions  about  life,"  he  said. 
*'  In  addition,  you  have  less  knowledge  of  yourself 
than  any  woman  I  have  ever  known.  The  two 
things  combined  have  put  your  mind  out  of  joint." 

Hermia  felt  as  if  she  were  stifling.  "  I  v/onder 
you  dare,"  she  said  through  her  teeth. 

"  Your  point  of  view  is  all  wrong,"  he  went  on  ; 
"  you  see  everything  through  glasses  that  do  not 
fit  your  eyes.  You  are  not  fond  of  talking  about 
yourself,  but  you  have  given  me  several  oppor- 
tunities to  gather  that.  You  think  you  have 
exhausted  life,  whereas  you  have  not  begun  to  live. 
You  simply  don't  even  know  what  you  are  think- 
ing about.  You  know  less  about  the  world  than 
any  woman  of  brain  and  opportunities  I  ever  met 
in  my  life,  and  it  is  because  you  have  deliberately 
blinded  yourself  by  false  and  perverted  views." 

Hermia's  teeth  Avere  clinched  and  her  bosom 
was  heaving.  "  You  may  as  well  finish,"  she  said, 
in  a  voice  ominously  calm. 

"  Just  to  mention  one  point.  You  have  said  you 
do  not  believe  in  matrimony — particularly  when 
people  love  each  other.  I  have  had  every  experi- 
ence with  women  that  a  romantic  temperament 
can  devise,  so  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  tell 
you  that  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
only  satisfactory  relationship  for  a  man  and  woman 


144  Hermia  Suydam. 

who  love  each  other  is  matrimony.  The  very 
knowledge  that  conditions  are  temporary,  acts  as 
a  check  to  love,  and  one  is  anxious  to  be  off  with 
one  affair  for  the  novelty  of  the  next.  Moreover, 
if  human  character  is  worth  anything  at  all,  it  is 
worth  its  highest  development.  This,  an  irregular 
and  passing  union  cannot  accomplish  ;  it  needs 
the  mutual  duties  and  responsibilities  and  sacri- 
fices of  married  life.  If  ever  I  really  loved  a 
woman  I  should  ask  her  to  marry  me.  You  have 
got  some  absurd,  romantic  notions  in  your  head 
about  the  charm  and  spice  of  an  intrigue.  Try 
it,  and  you  will  find  it  flatter  than  any  matrimony 
you  have  ever  seen  or  imagined." 

Hermia,  with  a  cry  of  rage,  sprang  from  her 
chair  and  rushed  from  the  room.  She  dropped 
her  handkerchief  in  her  flight,  and  Quintard  went 
forward  and  picked  it  up.  "  She  is  ready  to  tear 
me  bone  from  bone,"  he  thought  ;  "  but,  if  I  have 
destroyed  some  of  her  illusions,  I  shall  not  mind." 
He  passed  his  hand  tenderly  over  the  handker- 
chief, then  raised  it  suddenly  to  his  lips.  A  wave . 
of  color  rushed  over  his  dark  face,  making  it 
almost  black.  "  She  was  superb  in  her  wrath," 
he  muttered,  unsteadily. 

He  laid  the  handkerchief  on  the  table  and 
went  back  to  his  seat.  After  a  time  Hermia 
returned.  She  was  very  pale,  and  looked  rather 
ashamed  of  herself.  It  was  characteristic  of  her 
that  she  made  no  allusion  to  the  past  scene.     She 


Hermia  Siiydam.  145 

had  a  book  in  her  hand.  "  I  came  across  this  in 
an  old  book-shop  the  other  day,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  fond  of  prowling  about  dusty  shelves ;  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  end  by  becoming  a  bibliomaniac. 
This  is  a  collection  of  fragmentary  verses  which 
it  is  said  the  Crusaders  used  to  sing  at  night  on 
the  battle-field.     I  thought  you  might  use  it." 

Quintard  looked  as  pleased  as  a  boy.  ''  It  was 
very  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,"  he  said  impul- 
sively, "  and  I  shall  make  use  of  it.  But  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  this  last  yarn." 

*'  It  is  magnificent,"  said  Hermia  ;  "  I  believe 
you  are  that  rarest  object  in  the  history  of  the 
world — a  poet." 

*'  I  have  written  miles  of  it,  and  have  made 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  bonfires  in  history." 

Hermia  laughed.  ''Could  you  never  be  con- 
sistently serious  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  could,"  said  Quintard,  briefly. 

Hermia  looked  at  the  door.  "  Higgins  is  com- 
ing to  announce  luncheon,"  she  said. 


146  Herf?iia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

FIVE    POINTS    OF    VIEW. 

At  five  o'clock  Mrs.  Dykman,  Helen  Simms, 
and  Cryder  dropped  in  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  Miss 
Starbruck  came  down-stairs. 

Quintard  insisted  that,  in  spite  of  Miss  Star- 
bruck's  open  disapproval  of  him,  she  was  his 
proudest  conquest  ;  and  her  abuse  was  certainly 
growing  milder.  She  rarely  failed  to  appear  at 
these  informal  tea-drin kings  ;  there  was  just 
enough  of  the  worldly  flavor  about  them  to  fasci- 
nate without  frightening  her  ;  and  it  was  noticea- 
ble that  to  whatever  Quintard  chose  to  say  she 
listened  with  a  marked  and  somewhat  amusing 
interest.  The  poor  old  lady  was  no  more  proof 
against  personal  magnetism  and  the  commanding 
manliness  which  was  Quintard's  most  aggressive 
characteristic  than  her  less  rigid  sisters.  Quin- 
tard threatened  to  marry  her  and  deprive  Hermia 
of  her  only  natural  protector,  but  Miss  Starbruck 
was  as  yet  innocent  of  his  designs. 

"This  is  quite  a  family  party,"  said  Helen; 
"  let  us  draw  our  chairs  close  to  the  fire  and  warm 


Hermia  Suydam.  147 

ourselves  with  brotherly  affection  ;  it  is  so  beastly 
cold  out.  But  by  this  great  log  fire  one  thinks 
himself  in  the  hall  of  an  old  English  castle  ; 
and  the  streets  of  New  York  are  not.  I  feel 
almost  romantic." 

"  Let  us  tell  stories,"  suggested  Cryder. 

"  No,"  replied  Helen,  promptly,  "  I  don't  want 
to  listen  to  long  stories.  You  would  tell  your  own, 
and  I  can't  understand  dialect.  Besides,  I  want 
to  talk  about  myself — 1  beg  that  prerogative  of 
your  sex.  As  this  is  a  family  party,  I  am  going  to 
tell  my  woes  and  ask  advice.  I  want  to  get  mar- 
ried !     Shall  I,  or  shall  I  not  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  man  ?  "  asked  Cryder.  "  How  can 
we  advise  until  we  know  whether  he  is  worthy  to 
buy  your  bonnets  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  decided.  The  man  is  not  much  of 
a  point.  I  simply  want  to  be  married  that  I  may 
be  free,"  and  she  heaved  a  sigh. 

"Free  of  what  ?"  asked  Hermia,  sarcastically. 
"  Of  freedom  ?  " 

"Oh,  this  is  not  freedom,  my  dear.  A  girl 
always  has  to  be  chaperoned.  A  married  woman 
chaperones.     Oh,  the  difference  !  " 

"  But  where  do  you  propose  to  keep  the  future 
Mr.  Helen  Simms  ?  "  asked  Cryder,  laughing. 

"At  his  club,  or  in  a  rose-colored  boudoir. 
Mine  will  be  blue." 

"  Helen  Simms  !  you  are  the  most  immoral 
young  woman  I  ever — ever ,"     The  wrathful 


148  Hermia  Suydam. 

voice  broke  down,  and  all  turned  to  Miss  Star- 
bruck  with  amused  sympathy. 

"  Are  you  not  yet  used  to  our  wicked  Gotham  ?  " 
asked  Quintard,  taking  a  chair  beside  her. 

"  No  ! "  Miss  Starbruck  had  recovered  her 
voice.  *'  And  I  think  it  abominable  that  the  holy 
institution  of  matrimony  should  be  so  defamed." 

"  Oh,  dear  Miss  Starbruck,"  cried  Helen,  good- 
naturedly.  ''  It  is  time  you  left  Nantucket.  That 
primitive  saying  has  long  since  been  paraphrased 
into  *  the  unholy  institution  of  whithersoever  thou 
goest,  in  the  other  direction  will  I  run.'  And  a 
jolly  good  revolution  it  is,  too.  Please  do  not  call 
me  immoral,  dear  Miss  Starbruck.  You  and  I  were 
born  on  different  planets,  that  is  all." 

"  Marriage  is  a  necessary  evil,"  said  Mrs.  Dyk- 
man's  soft,  monotonous  voice.  "You  have  done 
well  to  defer  it  as  long  as  possible,  but  you  are 
wise  to  contemplate  a  silken  halter.  No  woman's 
position  is  established,  nor  has  she  any  actual 
importance  until  she  has  a  husband.  But  marry 
nothing  under  a  million,  my  dear.  Take  the 
advice  of  one  who  knows ;  money  is  the  one  thing 
that  makes  life  worth  living.  Everything  else 
goes — youth,  beauty,  love.  Money — if  you  take 
care  that  does  not  go  too — consoles  for  the  loss  of 
all,  because  it  buys  distractions,  amusement,  power, 
change.  It  plates  ennui  and  crystallizes  tears 
to  diamonds.  It  smoothes  wrinkles  and  keeps 
health  in  the  cheek.     It  buys  friends  and  masks 


Hermia  Suydam.  149 

weakness  and  sin.  You  are  young,  but  the  young 
generation  is  wiser  than  the  old  ;  my  advice,  I  feel 
sure,  will  not  be  thrown  away." 

"And  this!"  exclaimed  Miss  Starbruck, 
hoarsely  ;  "  this  is  what  life  has  come  to  !  I 
am  an  old  maid,  and  have  done  with  all  thought 
of  marriage  ;  but  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that 
many  years  ago  I  loved  a  young  man,  and  had  he 
lived  would  have  married  him,  and  been  a  true 
and  faithful  and  loving  wife.  That  a  v/oman 
should  marry  from  any  other  motive  seems  to  me 
scandalous  and  criminal." 

''  What  do  truth  and  duty  mean  ?  "  demanded 
Hermia  scornfully.  "  Monotony  and  an  ennui 
worse  than  death.  You  are  happy  that  you  live 
your  married  life  in  imagination,  and  that  your 
lover  died  before  even  courtship  had  begun  to  pall. 
Still  " — she  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  she  thought 
of  Bessie — ''perhaps  you  wouldn't  have  minded 
it;  some  people  don't." 

"No,"  said  her  aunt;  "I  wouldn't  have 
minded  it.     I  would  have  appreciated  it." 

Hermia  turned  to  her  with  a  curious  glance. 
"  How  differently  people  are  made,"  she  said  with 
a  sigh.  "  The  monotony  of  married  life  would 
drive  me  mad." 

Quintard  rose  and  rested  his  elbow  on  the  man- 
tel. "  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  he  said,  "that 
monotony  is  not  an  absolutely  indispensable  in- 
gredient of  married  life  ?  " 


150  Hermia  SuyJam, 

Hermia  shrugged  her  slioulders,  ''  It  ruins 
more  wedded  lives  than  jealousy  or  bad  temper." 

"  True  ;  but  if  married  life  is  monotonous,  it  is 
largely  the  fault  of  those  who  suffer  from  the 
monotony.  It  is  true  that  the  average  human 
animal  is  commonplace  ;  therefore  monotony  in 
the  domestic  relations  of  such  men  and  women 
follows  as  a  matter  of  course.  They  suffer  the 
consequences  without  the  power  to  avert  them. 
Those  who  walk  on  the  plane  above,  shiver  un- 
der the  frozen  smile  of  the  great  god  Bore  as 
well — but  they  can  avert  it.  The  ennui  that  kills 
love  is  born  of  dispelled  illusions,  of  the  death  of 
the  dramatic  principle,  which  is  buried  at  the  foot 
of  the  altar.  When  a  man  is  attempting  to  win  a 
woman  he  is  full  of  surprises  which  fascinate  her ; 
he  never  tarries  a  moment  too  long  ;  he  is  always 
planning  something  to  excite  her  interest ;  he 
watches  her  every  mood  and  coddles  it,  or  breaks 
it  down  for  the  pleasure  of  teaching  her  the 
strength  of  his  personality  ;  he  does  not  see  her 
too  often  ;  above  all,  he  is  never  off  guard.  Then, 
if  he  wins  her,  during  the  engagement  each  kiss 
is  an  event  ;  and,  another  point,  it  is  the  future 
of  which  they  always  talk. 

"  How  is  it  after  marriage  .?     We  all  know." 

Cryder  gave  an  unpleasant  little  laugh,  common 
to  him  when  some  one  else  had  held  the  floor  too 
long.  "  Taking  your  own  theory  as  a  premise," 
he  said,  "  I  should  say  that  the  best  plan  was  not 


Herfnia  Say  dam.  151 

to  get  married  at  all.  People  who  marry  are 
doomed  to  fall  between  the  time-honored  lines. 
Better  they  live  together  without  the  cloying 
assurance  of  ties  ;  then,  stimulus  is  not  wanting." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  for  people  who  are  inde- 
pendent of  the  world's  opinion,"  said  Mrs.  Dyk- 
man,  '*  but  what  are  they  to  do  who  happen  to 
have  a  yearning  for  respectable  society  ?" 

Cryder  shrugged  his  shoulders.  ''  They  must 
be  content  with  water  in  their  claret.  You  can't 
get  intoxicated  and  dilute  your  wine,  both." 

"  I  deny  that,"  said  Quintard.  "  I  believe  that 
matrimony  can  be  made  more  exciting  and  inter- 
esting than  liaison,  open  or  concealed,  because 
it  lacks  the  vulgarity  ;  it  can  be  made  champagne 
instead  of  beer." 

*'  You  ought  to  know,"  murmured  Mrs.  Dykman. 

**  Mr.  Quintard  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Starbruck  ; 
"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  although  I  do 
not  think  it  is  a  very  proper  subject  to  discuss 
before  both  men  and  women." 

"My  dear  Miss  Starbruck,"  broke  in  Helen, 
with  a  laugh  ;  '*  this  is  the  progressive  nineteenth 
century,  and  we  are  people  of  the  world — the 
wild,  wicked  world.  We  are  not  afraid  to  discuss 
anything,  particularly  in  this  house,  where  the 
most  primitive  and  natural  woman  in  the  world  is 
queen.  It  has  come  to  be  a  sort  of  Palace  of  Truth. 
We  don't  offend  the  artistic  sense,  however." 

"  Miss   Simms  has  been  right  more  than  once 


152  Hermia  Snydam. 

to-day,"  said  Quintard.  "  She  said  a  moment  ago 
that  one  must  be  married  to  be  free.  May  I  ven- 
ture the  assertion  that,  in  the  present  stale  of 
society,  the  highest  human  freedom  is  found  in 
the  bonds  of  matrimony  alone  ?  " 

"  Explain  your  paradox,"  said  Hermia,  who 
had  made  no  comment  to  Quintard's  remarks. 

"  It  is  easily  explained.  I  say  nothing  whatever 
of  passing  fancies,  infatuations,  passions,  which 
are  best  disposed  of  in  a  temporary  union.  I 
refer  to  love  alone.  When  a  man  loves  a  woman 
he  wants  her  constant  companionship,  with  no 
restraint  but  that  exercised  by  his  own  judicious 
will  and  art.  He  wants  to  Hve  with  her,  to 
travel  with  her,  to  be  able  to  seek  her  at  all  hours, 
to  follow  his  own  will,  unquestioned  and  untram- 
meled.  This,  outside  of  conventional  bonds,  is 
impossible  without  scandal,  and  no  man  who 
loves  a  woman  will  have  her  lightly  spoken  of  if 
he  can  help  it.  But  let  the  priest  read  his  for- 
mula, and  the  man  so  bound  is  monarch  of  his 
own  desires,  and  can  snap  his  fingers  at  the  world. 
I  have  neither  patience  nor  respect  for  the  man 
who  must  have  the  stimulus  of  uncertainty  to  feed 
his  love.  He  is  a  poor,  weak,  unimaginative 
creature,  who  is  dependent  upon  conditions  for 
that  which  he  should  find  in  his  own  character." 

"  I  never  expected  to  hear  you  talk  hke  this, 
Mr.  Quintard  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Starbruck,  *'  for 
you  have  been  a  very  immoral  man." 


Hermia  Suydam.  153 

Quintard  looked  at  her  with  an  amused  smile. 
"Why  immoral,  Miss  Starbruck  ?" 

"  You  have — well,  people  say "  stammered 

poor  Miss  Starbruck,  and  then  broke  down. 

Mrs.  Dykman  came  to  the  rescue.  "Miss 
Starbruck  means  that  you  have  lived  with  a  num- 
ber of  women  and  have  not  taken  any  particular 
pains  to  hide  the  fact." 

"  Is  that  immoral  ?  I  think  not.  I  have  lived 
with  no  woman  who  had  anything  to  lose,  and 
I  have  lived  with  no  woman  who  was  not  my 
equal  intellectually.  Companionship  was  quite 
as  much  an  object  as  passion.  I  never  took  a 
woman  out  of  the  streets  and  hung  jewels  upon 
her  and  adored  her  for  her  empty  beauty,  and 
with  a  certain  class  of  women  I  have  never  ex- 
changed a  dozen  words  since  my  callow  youth. 
Furthermore,  I  never  won  a  woman's  affections 
from  her  husband.  If  I  ever  got  them  he  had 
lost  them  first.  Therefore,  I  protest  against 
being  called  immoral." 

"  If  you  want  to  go  into  the  question  of  moral 
ethics,"  said  Cryder,  "you  cannot  plead  guiltless 
altogether  of  immxorality.  In  openly  living  with 
a  woman  who  is  not  your  wife  you  outrage  the 
conventions  of  the  community  and  set  it  a  bad 
example.  It  may  be  argued  that  you  do  less 
harm  than  those  who  pursue  the  sort  of  life  you 
let  alone  ;  but  the  positive  harm  is  there." 

All   looked   at   Quintard,    wondering    how   he 


154  Hcrmia  Suydam. 

would    reply.     Even    Hermia    felt     that    he    was 
driven  into  a  corner. 

"  The  question  is,"  replied  Quintard,  slowly, 
*'  What  is  morality  ?  The  world  has  many  stand- 
ards, from  that  of  the  English  Government  to 
that  of  the  African  barbarian,  who  follows  his 
instincts,  yet  who,  curiously  enough,  is  in  all  re- 
spects more  of  a  villain  than  his  artificial  brother. 
That  point,  however,  we  will  not  discuss.  A 
man's  standard,  of  course,  is  determined  by  the 
community  in  which  he  lives.  AVe  will  consider 
him  first  in  relation  to  himself.  Man  is  given  a 
temperament  which  varies  chiefly  according  to 
his  physical  strength,  and  tastes  which  are  dis- 
tinctly individual.  And  he  not  only  is  a  different 
man  after  the  experiences  of  each  successive  dec- 
ade, but  he  frequently  waits  long  for  the  only 
woman  for  whom  he  is  capable  of  feeling  that 
peculiar  and  overwhelming  quality  of  love  which 
demands  that  he  shall  make  her  his  wife.  But  in 
the  mean  time  he  cannot  go  altogether  compan- 
ionless,  and  he  meets  many  women  with  whom 
life  is  by  no  means  unennobling.  As  to  the  com- 
munity, I  deny  that  he  sets  it  a  bad  example. 
It  is  a  wiser,  more  educating,  and  more  refined 
life  than  insensate  love-making  to  every  pretty 
weak  woman  who  comes  along,  or  than  associa- 
tions which  degrade  a  man's  higher  nature  and 
give  him  not  a  grain  of  food  for  thought.  If 
more  men,  until  ready  to  marry,  spent  their  lives 


Hermia  Suydajti.  155 

in  the  manner  which  I  have  endeavored  to  defend, 
there  would  be  less  weariness  of  life,  less  drink- 
ing, less  excess,  less  vice  of  all  sorts." 

Miss  Starbruck  shuddered,  but  felt  that  the 
conversation  had  gone  out  of  her  depth,  and 
made  no  reply.  Hermia  looked  at  Quintard  with 
a  feeling  of  unconscious  pride.  Until  he  finished 
speaking,  she  did  not  realize  how  she  would  hate 
to  have  him  beaten. 

Cryder  rose  and  began  walking  up  and  down 
the  room.  "  When  you  argue,"  he  said  fretfully, 
"  I  always  feel  as  if  you  were  hammering  me  about 
my  ears.  You  have  such  a  way  of  pounding 
through  a  discussion  !  One  never  knows  until 
the  next  day  whether  you  are  right  or  whether 
you  have  simply  overwhelmed  one  by  the  force  of 
your  vitality.  Personally,  however,  I  do  not 
agree  with  you,  and  for  the  same  reason  that  I 
would  never  marry  ;  I  dislike  responsibilities." 

Quintard  gave  him  a  glance  of  contempt,  under 
which  Hermia  shrank  as  if  a  lash  had  cut  her 
shoulders ;  but  before  he  could  reply  Helen 
rushed  to  the  front.  "  And  all  this  discussion 
has  come  out  of  my  poor  little  bid  for  sympathy 
and  advice!"  she  cried.  ''You  have  frightened 
me  to  death  !  I  am  afraid  of  the  very  word  mat- 
rimony with  all  your  analysis  and  philosophy. 
To  me  it  was  a  simple  proposition  :  *  Marry  and 
chaperon ;  don't  marry,  and  be  chaperoned.' 
Now  I  feel  that,  if  a  man  proposes  to  me,  I  must 


156  Her  mi  a  Suydarn. 

read  Darwin  and  Spencer  before  I  answer.  I 
refuse  to  listen  to  another  word.  Mrs.  Dyk- 
man,  I  am  going  home  ;  let  me  drive  you  over." 

They  all  went  in  a  few  moments,  and  Hermia 
was  left  alone  with  her  reflections. 


Hermia  Suydam.  157 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

TWO    HISTORIES    ARE    ALMOST  FINISHED. 

Hermia  saw  a  great  deal  of  Quintard.  They 
walked  together,  they  rode  together,  and  circum- 
stances frequently  forced  them  into  each  other's 
society  for  hours  at  a  time.  She  liked  him  more 
with  every  interview,  but  she  did  not  feel  a  throb 
of  love  for  him.  The  snovv^  on  her  nature's  volcano 
was  deep  as  the  ashes  which  buried  Pompeii. 

He  had  many  opportunities  to  put  his  wearing 
qualities  to  the  test.  Once  they  met  at  a  fashion- 
able winter  rendezvous  in  the  country.  The  other 
women  were  of  the  Helen  Simms  type  ;  the  rest 
of  the  men  belonged  to  the  Winston  brotherhood. 
For  the  greater  part  of  four  days  Hermia  and 
Quintard  devoted  themselves  exclusively  to  each 
other.  When  they  were  not  riding  across  the 
country  or  rambling  through  the  windy  woods, 
they  sat  in  the  library  and  told  stories  by  the  fire. 

One  day  they  had  wandered  far  into  the  woods 
and  come  upon  a  hemlock  glen,  down  one  side  of 
which  tumbled  melting  snow  over  great  jutting 
rocks  that  sprang  from  the  mountain  side.  Quin- 
tard and  Hermia  climbed  to  a  ledge  that  overhung 
one  of  the  rocky  platforms  and   sat  down.     About 


158  HerjTiia   Suydam. 

and  above  them  rose  the  forest,  hut  the  wind  was 
quiet ;  there  was  no  sound  but  the  dull  roar  of  the 
cataract.  A  more  romantic  spot  was  not  in  Amer- 
ica, but  Quintard  could  not  have  been  more  mat- 
ter-of-fact had  he  been  in  a  street-car.  He  had 
never  betrayed  any  feeling  he  may  have  had  for 
her  by  a  flash  of  his  eye.  He  discussed  with  her 
subjects  dangerous  and  tender,  but  always  with 
the  cold  control  of  the  impersonal  analyst. 

He  smoked  for  a  few  moments  in  silence  and 
then  said  abruptly  :  "  Don't  imagine  that  I  am 
going  to  discuss  religion  with  you  ;  it  is  a  ques- 
tion which  does  not  interest  me  at  all.  But  do 
you  believe  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ? " 

"No,"  said  Hermia. 

"Why  not?" 

Hermia  lifted  her  shoulders  :  "  I  have  never 
thought  agnosticism  needed  defense." 

"  Agnosticism  is  the  religion  of  the  intellectual, 
of  course.  But  I  have  some  private  reasons  for 
going  a  step  beyond  agnosticism,  and  believing  in 
the  persistence  of  personality.  Do  you  want  to 
hear  them  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hermia,  "  but  it  all  comes  down  to 
the  same  proposition.  Religion  has  its  strong- 
hold in  Ego  the  Great.  La  vie,  c'est  moi !  I  am, 
therefore  must  ever  be  !  Now  and  forever  !  World 
without  end  !  " 

"I  refuse  to  be  snubbed  beforehand.  Why 
are  children  so  frequently  the  ancestors  of  their 


Hermia  Suydam.  159 

family's  talent  ?     When  heredity  cannot  account 
for  genius,  what  better  explanation  than  that  of 
the  re-embodiment  of  an  unquenchable  individu- 
ality ?     The  second  reason  is  a  more  sentimental 
one.     Why    is    a   man    never    satisfied    until    he 
meets  the  woman  he  really  loves,  and  why  are  his 
instincts  so  keen  and    sure  when  he  does  meet 
her  ?     Why,  also,  does  he  so  often  dwell  with  the 
ideal  of  her  before  he  sees  her  in  material  form  ? " 
Hermia  felt  herself   paling,  but  she  exclaimed 
impatiently  :  "  Don't  talk  to  me  of  ideals— those 
poor,  pale    photographs   of  ourselves,  who    have 
neither  mind    nor   will  nor  impulse  ;    who  jump 
out  like   puppets  as  the  strings  are  pulled;   who 
respond  to  every  mood  and  grin  to  every  smile  ! 
They  are  born  of  the  supreme  egoism  of  human 
nature,  which   admits  no    objective    influence   to 
any  world  of  its  own  creating — an  egoism  which 
demands  vengeance  for  the  humiliation  of  spirit 
one  is  called  upon  to  endure  in  the  world  of  men. 
Your  other  arguments  were  good,  however.     I  like 
them,  although  I  will  not  discuss  them  until  you 
have  further  elaborated.     In  the  mean  time  solve 
another  problem.     What  is  the  reason  that,  when 
a  woman  falls  in  love,  she   immediately,  if  a  be- 
liever, has  an  increase  of  religious  feeling  ;  if  a  non- 
believer,  she  has  a  desire  to  believe,  so  that  she 
may    pray  ?     Sentimentality  ?     The    softening    of 
her   nature  under   the  influence  of   love  ?     The 
general  awakening  of  her  emotional  possibilities  ?  " 


i6o  Her  mi  a  Siiydam. 

"  Neither — or  all,  indirectly.  She  is  not  drawn 
to  God  in  the  least.  She  is  drawn  to  the  ideal- 
ized abstraction  of  her  lover,  who,  in  the  mists  of 
her  white-heated  imagination,  assumes  the  linea- 
ments of  the  being  most  exalted  by  tradition.  If 
there  were  a  being  more  exalted  still  than  God, 
her  lover's  phantom  would  be  re-christened  with 
his  name  instead.  It  is  to  her  lover  that  she 
prays — the  intermediate  being  is  a  pretty  fiction — 
and  she  revels  in  prayer,  because  it  gives  her  a 
dreamy  and  sensuous  nearness  to  her  lover." 

Hermia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  paced  the  nar- 
row platform  with  rapid  steps.  "  It  is  well  I  have 
no  *  pretty  fictions,'  "  she  said, ''  you  would  shatter 
them  to  splinters." 

He  rose  also.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I  would  never 
shatter  any  of  your  ideals.  Such  as  you  believe 
in  and  I  do  not,  I  will  never  discuss  with  you." 

Hermia  stood  still  and  looked  away  from  him 
and  through  the  hemlock  forest,  with  its  life  out- 
stretched above  and  its  death  rotting  below.  The 
shadows  were  creeping  about  it  like  ghosts  of  the 
dead  bracken  beneath  their  feet.  The  mist  was 
rolling  over  the  mountain  and  down  the  cataract ; 
it  lay  like  a  soft,  thin  blanket  on  the  hurrying 
waters.  Hermia  drew  closer  to  Quintard  and 
looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  Do  you  believe,"  she  said,  "  that  perfect  hap- 
piness can  be — even  when  affinities  meet  ?  " 

*'  Not    perfect,  because  not  uninterrupted,"  he 


Hermia  Suydam.  i6i 

replied,  "  except  in  those  rare  cases  where  a  man 
and  woman,  born  for  each  other,  have  met  early 
in  youth,  before  thought  or  experience  had 
formed  the  character  of  either.  When — as  almost 
always  happens — they  do  not  meet  until  each  is 
incased  in  the  armor  of  their  separate  and  per- 
fected individualities,  no  matter  how  united  they 
may  become,  there  must  be  hours  and  days  of 
terrible  spiritual  loneliness — there  must  be  certain 
sides  of  their  natures  that  can  never  touch.  But  " 
— he  bent  his  flushed  face  to  hers  and  his  voice 
shook — ''  there  are  moments — there  are  hours — 
when  barriers  are  of  mist,  when  duality  is  forgot- 
ten. Such  hours,  isolated  from  time  and  the 
world " 

She  broke  from  him  as  from  an  invisible  em- 
brace and  s^ood  on  the  edge  of  a  rock.  She  gave 
a  little,  rippHng  laugh  that  was  caught  and  lost  in 
the  rush  and  thunder  of  the  waters.  "Your 
theories  are  fascinating,"  she  cried,  "  but  this 
unknown  cataract  is  more  so.  I  should  like  to 
stand  here  for  an  hour  and  watch  it,  were  not 
these  rocks  so  slippery " 

Quintard  turned  his  head.  Then  he  leaped 
down  the  path  beneath  the  ledge.  Hermia  had 
disappeared.  He  was  about  to  swing  himself  out 
into  the  cataract  when  he  staggered  and  leaned 
against  the  rock  ;  his  heart  contracted  as  if  there 
were  fingers  of  steel  about  it.  With  a  mighty 
resolution,    he    overcame    the    physical  weakness 


1 62  Hcrmia  Si4ydam. 

which  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  momentary 
pain,  and,  planting  his  feet  on  one  of  the  broad 
stones  over  which  the  torrent  fell,  he  set  his  shoul- 
der against  a  projecting  rock  and  looked  upward. 
Hermia  lay  on  a  shelf  above ;  the  force  of  the 
cataract  was  feebler  at  its  edges  and  had  not 
swept  her  down.  Quintard  crawled  slowly  up, 
his  feet  slipping  on  the  slimy  rocks,  only  saving 
himself  from  being  precipitated  into  the  narrow- 
ing body  of  the  torrent  below  by  clinging  to  the 
roots  and  branches  that  projected  from  the  ledges. 
He  reached  Hermia  ;  she  was  unconscious,  and  it 
was  well  that  he  was  a  strong  man.  He  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  went  down  the  rocks.  When  he 
stepped  on  to  the  earth  again  his  face  was  white, 
and  he  breathed  heavily.  *'  My  heart  beats  as  if 
I  were  a  woman,"  he  muttered  impatiently,  *'  what 
is  the  matter  with  me  ?  '• 

He  laid  Hermia  on  the  ground,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment was  compelled  to  rest  beside  her.  Then  he 
aroused  himself  and  bent  anxiously  over  her. 
She  had  had  a  severe  fall  ;  it  was  a  vv'onder  her 
brains  had  not  been  dashed  out.  He  lifted  her 
and  held  her  v/ith  her  body  sloping  from  feet  to 
head.  She  struggled  to  consciousness  with  an 
agonized  gasp.  She  opened  her  eyes,  but  did  not 
appear  to  see  him,  and,  turning  her  face  to  the  tor- 
rent, made  a  movement  to  crawl  to  it.  Quintard 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  stood  her  on  her  feet. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  asked  roughly. 


Herviia  Suydam.  163 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  head.  "  I  like  to 
watch  it,  but  the  rocks  are  so  slippery,"  she  said 
confusedly,  yet  with  a  gleam  of  cunning  in  her 
shadowed  eyes. 

Quintard  caught  her  by  both  shoulders  and 
shook  her.  "  My  God  ! "  he  exclaimed,  ''did  you 
do  it  purposely  ? " 

The  blood  rushed  to  her  head  and  washed  the 
fog  from  her  brain.  "You  are  crazy,"  she  said  ; 
"let  us  go  home." 


64  Hermia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

AN    EPOCH-MAKING     DEPARTURE. 

A  WOMAN  never  moralizes  until  she  has  com- 
mitted an  immoral  act.  From  the  moment  she 
voluntarily  accepts  it  until  the  moment  she  casts 
it  aside,  she  may  do  distasteful  duty  to  the  letter, 
but  she  does  it  mechanically.  The  laws  and 
canons  are  laid  down,  and  she  follows  them  with- 
out analysis,  however  rebelliously.  She  may  long 
for  the  forbidden  as  consistently  as  she  accepts 
her  yoke,  whether  the  yoke  be  of  untempted  girl- 
hood or  hated  matrimony  ;  but  the  longing  serves 
to  deepen  her  antipathy  to  bonds  ;  she  sees  no 
beauty  in  average  conditions.  After  she  has 
plucked  the  apple  and  eaten  it  raw,  skin,  core 
and  all,  and  is  suffering  from  the  indigestion 
thereof,  she  is  enabled  to  analytically  compare  it 
with  such  fruits  as  do  not  induce  dyspepsia. 

Although  Hermia  was  far  from  acknowledging 
that  she  loved  Quintard,  she  allowed  him  occa- 
sionally to  reign  in  her  imagination,  and  had  more 
than  one  involuntary,  abstract,  but  tender  inter- 
view with  him.  This,  she  assured  herself,  was 
purely  speculative,  and   in  the   way  of  objective 


Her7nia  Suydam.  165 

amusement,  like  the  theater  or  the  opera.  When 
she  found  that  she  thought  of  him  always  as  her 
husband  she  made  no  protest  ;  he  was  too  good 
for  anything  less.  Nor,  she  decided,  had  she  met 
him  earlier  and  been  able  to  love  him,  would  she 
have  been  content  with  any  more  imperfect  union. 

Cryder  still  came  with  more  or  less  regularity. 
There  were  brief,  frantic  moments,  as  when  she 
had  sought  death  in  the  torrent ;  but  on  the  whole 
she  was  too  indifferent  to  break  with  him.  Her 
life  was  already  ruined  ;  what  mattered  her  actions  ? 
Moreover,  habit  is  a  tremendous  force,  and  he 
had  a  certain  hold  over  her,  a  certain  fascination, 
with  which  the  physical  had  nothing  to  do. 

After  she  had  known  Quintard  about  two 
months  she  found  herself  free.  Cryder,  in  truth, 
was  quite  as  tired  as  herself.  Ennui  was  in  his 
tideless  veins,  and,  moreover,  the  time  had  come 
to  add  another  flower  to  his  herbarium.  But  he 
did  not  wish  to  break  with  Hermia  until  his  time 
came  to  leave  the  city.  If  she  had  loved  him,  it 
might  have  been  worth  while  to  hurt  her  ;  but,  as 
even  his  egoism  could  not  persuade  him  that  she 
gave  him  more  than  temperate  affection,  he  would 
not  risk  the  humiliation  of  being  laughed  at. 

One  evening  he  told  her  that  he  must  go  South 
the  following  week  and  remain  several  months. 
His  dialect  was  growing  rusty,  and  the  public 
would  expect  another  novel  from  him  in  the 
coming  spring.     He  hated  to  say  good-bye  to  her, 


1 66  Hermia  Suydam. 

but  his  muse  claimed  his  first  and  highest  duty, 
Hermia  felt  as  one  who  comes  out  of  a  room  full 
of  smoke — she  wanted  to  draw  a  long  breath  and 
throw  back  her  head.  She  replied  very  politely, 
however — they  were  always  very  polite — that  she 
should  miss  him  and  look  forward  to  his  return. 
Neither  would  avow  that  this  was  the  end  of  the 
matter,  but  each  was  devoutly  thankful  that  the 
other  was  not  a  fool. 

Cryder  looked  melancholy  and  handsome  when 
he  came  to  say  good-bye.  He  had  on  extremely 
becoming  traveling  clothes,  and  his  skin  and  eyes 
had  their  accustomed  clearness.  He  bade  Hermia 
a  tender  farewell,  and  his  eyes  looked  resigned  and 
sad.  Then  an  abstracted  gaze  passed  into  them, 
as  if  his  spirit  had  floated  upward  to  a  plane  far 
removed  from  common  affection. 

Hermia  had  much  ado  to  keep  her  mouth  from 
curling.  She  remembered  what  Quintard  had 
once  said  of  him  :  that  he  always  wanted  to 
throw  him  on  a  table  to  see  if  he  would  ring. 
Bah  !  what  a  poseur  he  was  !  Then  she  mentally 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  His  egoism  had  its 
value  ;  he  had  never  noticed  the  friendship  which 
existed  between  her  and  Quintard.  Had  he  been 
a  jealous  man  he  would  have  been  insufferable. 

After  he  had  gone  he  seemed  to  glide  out  of 
her  life — out  of  the  past  as  of  the  present.  She 
found  herself  barely  able  to  recall  him,  his  feat- 
ures, his  characteristics.     For  a    long    time  she 


Hermia  Suydatn.  167 

never  thought  of  him  unless  some  one  mentioned 
his  name,  and  then  she  wondered  if  he  had  not 
been  the  hero  of  a  written  sketch  rather  than  of 
an  actual  episode. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  Cryder's  removal  or  to 
Quintard's  influence,  she  could  not  tell,  but  she 
found  herself  becoming  less  blase.  Her  spirits 
were  lighter,  people  interested  her  more,  life 
seemed  less  prosaic.  She  asked  Quintard  once 
what  it  meant,  and  he  told  her,  with  his  usual 
frankness,  that  it  was  the  spring.  This  offended 
her,  and  she  did  not  speak  for  ten  minutes. 

On  another  occasion  he  roused  her  to  wrath. 
He  told  her  one  day  that  on  the  night  he  met  her 
he  had  been  impressed  with  a  sense  of  unreality 
about  her  ;  and,  acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  she 
told  him  the  history  of  her  starved  and  beautiless 
girlhood.  When  she  finished  she  expected  many 
comments,  but  Quintard  merely  put  another  log 
of  wood  on  the  fire  and  remarked  : 

"  That  is  all  very  interesting,  but  I  am  warned 
that  the  dinner-hour  approaches.  Farewell,  I 
will  see  you  at  Mrs.  Dykman's  this  evening." 

Hermia  looked  at  the  fire  for  some  time  after 
he  had  gone.  She  was  thankful  that  fate  had 
arranged  matters  in  such  wise  that  she  was  not  to 
spend  her  life  with  Quintard.  He  could  be,  at 
times,  the  most  disagreeable  man  she  had  ever 
known,  and  there  was  not  a  grain  of  sympathy  in 
his  nature.     And,  yes,  he  was  prosaic  ! 


1 68  Hermia  Suydam, 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THROUGH    THE    SNOW. 

Two  days  later  Hermia  went  to  a  large  dinner, 
and  Quintard  took  her  in.  She  was  moody  and 
absent.  She  felt  nervous,  she  said,  and  he  need 
not  be  surprised  if  he  found  her  very  cross. 
Quintard  told  her  to  be  as  cross  as  she  liked.  He 
had  his  reasons  for  encouraging  her  in  her  moods. 
After  the  dinner  was  over  she  wandered  through 
the  rooms  like  a  restless  ghost.  Finally  she 
turned  abruptly  to  Quintard.  "Take  me  home," 
she  said  ;  "  I  shall  stifle  if  I  stay  in  this  house  any 
longer.     It  is  like  a  hot-house." 

"  But  what  will  Mrs.  Dykman  say  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  care  what  she  says.  She  is  not  ready 
to  go,  and  I  won't  stay  any  longer.  I  will  go 
without  saying  anything  to  her  about  it." 

"  Very  well.  There  will  be  comment,  but  I 
will  see  if  they  have  a  telephone  and  order  a  cab." 

"  I  won't  go  in  a  cab.     I  want  to  walk." 

"  But  it  is  snowing." 

"  I  like  to  walk  in  the  snow." 

Quintard  thought  it  best  to  let  her  have  her 
way.  Moreover,  a  walk  through  the  snow  with 
her  would  be  a  very  pleasant   thing.     He  hunted 


Hermia  Suydam.  169 

up  a  housemaid  and  borrowed  a  pair  of  high  over- 
shoes. Hermia  had  on  a  short  gown  ;  she  pulled 
the  fur-lined  hood  of  her  long  wrap  about  her 
head,  Quintard  put  on  the  overshoes,  and  they 
managed  to  get  out  of  the  house  unnoticed.  The 
snow  was  falling,  but  the  wind  lingered  afar  on 
the  borders  of  the  storm. 

"  You  had  better  let  me  call  a  cab." 

"  I  will  not  drive,"  replied  Hermia ;  and  Quin- 
tard shrugged  his  shoulders  and  offered  his  arm. 

The  walk  was  not  a  long  one  under  ordinary- 
circumstances  ;  the  house  at  which  the  dinner  had 
been  given  was  in  Gramercy  Park  ;  but,  with  a 
slippery  pavement  and  snow-stars  in  one's  eyes, 
each  block  is  a  mile.  Quintard  had  an  umbrella, 
but  Hermia  would  not  let  him  raise  it.  She  liked 
to  throw  back  her  head  and  watch  the  snow  in  its 
tumbling,  scurrying,  silent  fall.  It  lay  deep  in  the 
long,  narrow  street,  and  it  blotted  out  the  tall, 
stern  houses  with  a  merry,  baffling  curtain  of  wee, 
white  storm-imps.  Now  and  again  a  cab  flashed 
its  lantern  like  a  will-o'-the-v/isp. 

Hermia  made  Quintard  stop  under  one  of  the 
electric  lamps.  It  poured  its  steady  beams  through 
the  storm  for  a  mile  and  more,  and  in  it  danced 
the  sparkling  crystals  in  infinite  variety  of  form 
and  motion.  About  the  pathway  pressed  the 
soft,  unlustrous  army,  jealous  of  their  transformed 
comrades,  like  stars  that  sigh  to  spring  from  the 
crowded  milky  way.     Down  that  luminous   road 


170  Her7tiia  Suydatn. 

hurried  the  tiny  radiant  shapes,  like  coming  souls 
to  the  great  city,  hungry  for  life. 

Hermia  clung  to  Quintard,  her  eyes  shining  out 
of  the  dark. 

"Summer  and  the  country  have  nothing  so 
beautiful  as  this,"  she  whispered.  "  I  feel  as  if 
we  were  on  a  deserted  planet,  and  of  hateful  mod- 
ern life  there  was  none.     I  cannot  see  a  house." 

"I  see  several,"  said  Quintard. 

Hermia  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  disgust,  but 
struggled  onward.  "  Sometimes  I  hate  you,"  she 
said.     ''You  never  respond  to  my  moods." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do — to  your  real  moods.  You  often 
think  you  are  sentimental,  when,  should  I  take  you 
up,  you  would  find  me  a  bore  and  change  the  sub- 
ject. You  will  get  sentimental  enough  some  day, 
but  you  are  not  ready  for  it  yet." 

"  Yes  ?  You  still  cling  to  that  ridiculous  idea 
that  I  shall  some  day  fall  in  love,  I  suppose." 

"  I  do.     And  how  you  will  go  to  pieces." 

"  That  is  purest  nonsense.     I  wish  it  were  not." 

*'  Have  you  got  that  far  ?  But  we  will  not 
argue  the  matter.  Your  mood  to-night,  as  I  sug- 
gested before,  is  not  a  sentimental  one.  You  are 
extremely  cross.  I  don't  know  but  I  like  that  bet- 
ter. It  would  be  hard  for  me  to  be  sentimental 
in  the  streets  of  New  York." 

Hermia  rather  liked  being  bullied  by  him  at 
times.  But  if  she  could  only  shake  that  effortless 
self-control  ! 


He7'mia  Suydam.  171 

They  walked  a  block  in  silence.  "  Are  you  very 
susceptible  to  beauty  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

Quintard  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid  I  am.  Still, 
I  will  do  myself  the  justice  to  say  that  it  has  no 
power  to  hold  me  if  there  is  nothing  else.  Beauty 
by  itself  is  a  poor  thing  ;  combined  with  several 
other  things — intellect,  soul,  passion — it  becomes 
one  of  the  sv/eetest  and  most  powerful  aids  to 
communion." 

"Why  do  you  think  so  much  of  passion?" 
she  demanded.     "  You  haven't  any  yourself." 

They  passed  under  a  lamp  at  the  moment,  and 
a  ray  of  light  fell  on  Quintard's  face,  to  which 
Hermia  had  lifted  her  eyes.  The  color  sprang  to 
it,  and  his  eyes  flashed.  He  bent  his  head  until 
she  shrank  under  the  strong,  angry  magnetism  of 
his  gaze.  "  It  is  time  you  opened  your  eyes,"  he 
said  harshly,  "  and  learned  to  know  one  man 
from  another.  And  it  is  time  you  began  to  real- 
ize what  you  have  to  expect."  He  bent  his  face 
a  little  closer.  ''  It  will  not  frighten  you,  though," 
he  said.  And  then  he  raised  his  head  and  care- 
fully piloted  her  across  the  street. 

Hermia  made  no  reply.  She  opened  her  lips 
as  if  her  lungs  needed  more  air.  Something  was 
humming  in  her  head  ;  she  could  not  think.  She 
looked  up  through  a  light-path  into  the  dark, 
piling  billows  of  the  vaporous,  storm-writhed 
ocean.  Then  she  caught  Quintard's  arm  as  if 
she  were  on  an  eminence  and  afraid  of  falling. 


172  Herttiia  Suydam. 

"  Are  you  cold  ?  "  he  asked,  drawing  her  closer. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hermia.  **  I  wish  we  were  home. 
How  thick  the-  snow  is  !     Things  are  in  my  eyes." 

Quintard  stopped  and  brushed  the  little  crystals 
off  her  lashes.  Then  they  went  on,  slipping  some- 
times, but  never  falling.  Quintard  was  very  sure- 
footed. The  snow  covered  them  with  a  garment 
like  soft  white  fur,  the  darkness  deepened,  and 
neither  made  further  attempt  at  conversation. 
Quintard  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  his  bear- 
ings, and  began  to  wish  that  he  had  not  let  Her- 
mia have  her  w^ay  ;  but  she  trudged  along  beside 
him  with  a  blind  sort  of  confidence  new  to  her. 

After  a  time  he  gave  an  exclamation  of  relief. 
"  \Vc  are  within  a  couple  of  blocks  of  your  house," 
he  said.  "  We  shall  soon  be  home.  Be  careful — 
the  crossing  is  very  slip .     Ah  !  " 

She  had  stepped  off  the  curbstone  too  quickly, 
her  foot  slipped,  and  she  made  a  wild  slide 
forward,  dragging  Quintard  with  her.  He  threw 
his  arm  around  her,  and  caught  his  balance  on 
the  wing.  In  a  second  he  was  squarely  planted 
on  both  feet,  but  he  did  not  release  Hermia.  He 
wound  his  arms  about  her,  pressing  her  closer, 
closer,  his  breath  coming  quickly.  The  ice- 
burdened  storm  might  have  been  the  hot  blast  of 
a  furnace.  He  did  not  kiss  her,  his  lips  were 
frozen ;  but  her  hood  had  fallen  back  and  he 
pressed  his  face  into  the  fragrant  gold  of  her  hair. 

He  loosened  his  hold  suddenly,  and,  drawing 


Hertnia  Suydam.  173 

her  arm  through  his,  hurried  through  the  street. 
They  were  at  Hermia's  door  in  a  few  moments, 
and  when  the  butler  opened  it  she  turned  to  him 
hesitatingly, 

"  You  will  come  in  and  get  warm,  and  ring  for 
a  cab  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  will  go  in  for  a  moment." 

They  went  into  the  library,  and  Quintard  lit  all 
the  burners.  He  touched  a  bell  and  told  the 
butler  to  bring  some  sherry  and  call  a  cab. 

When  the  sherry  came  he  drank  a  glass  with 
her,  and  entertained  her  until  the  cab  arrived,  with 
an  account  of  a  wild  storm  in  which  he  had  once 
found  himself  on  the  mountains  of  Colorado. 
When  the  bell  rang  she  stood  up  and  held  out  her 
hand  with  a  smile. 

"  Good-luck  to  you,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you 
will  get  home  before  morning." 

He  took  her  hand,  then  dropped  it  and  put 
both  his  own  about  her  face,  his  wrists  meeting 
under  her  chin.  "Good-night,"  he  said  softly. 
"  Go  to  those  sovereign  domains  of  yours,  where 
the  castles  are  built  of  the  clouds  of  sunset,  and 
the  sea  thunders  with  longing  and  love  and  pain 
of  desire.  I  have  been  with  you  there  always  ;  I 
always  shall  be  ;  "  and  then  he  let  his  hands  fall, 
and  went  quickly  from  the  room. 

Hermia  waited  until  the  front  door  had  closed, 
and  then  she  ran  up  to  her  room  as  if  hobgoblins 
were  in  pursuit. 


174  Hermia  Suydam, 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    DYKMAN    REPRIMAND. 

While  Hermia  was  sitting  in  the  library  the 
next  day  in  a  very  unenviable  frame  of  mind,  the 
door  opened  and  Mrs.  Dykman  came  in. 

"  Hermia,"  she  said,  after  she  had  disposed  her- 
self on  one  of  the  severe,  high-backed  cliairs,  "  it 
is  quite  time  for  you  to  adopt  some  slight  regard 
for  the  conventionalities.  You  are  wealthy,  and 
strong  in  your  family  name  ;  but  there  is  a  limit. 
The  world  is  not  a  thing  you  can  hold  in  the  hol- 
low of  your  hand  or  crush  under  your  foot.  The 
manner  in  which  you  left  Mrs.  Le  Roy's  house 
last  night  was  scandalous.  What  do  you  suppose 
the  consequences  will  be  ? "  Her  cold,  even 
tones  never  varied,  but  they  had  the  ice-breath  of 
the  Arctic  in  them. 

''Are  people  talking.?"  asked  Hermia. 

*'  Talking  ?  They  are  shrieking  !  It  is  to  be 
hoped,  for  your  own  sake,  that  you  are  going  to 
marry  Grettan  Quintard,  and  that  you  will  let  me 
announce  the  engagement  at  once." 

Hennia  sprang  to  her  feet,  overturning  her 
chair.  She  had  a  book  in  her  hand,  and  she 
flung  it  across  the  room.     Her  eyes  were  blazing 


Hermia  Suydam.  175 

and  her  face  was  livid.     "  Don't  ever  dare  men- 
tion that  man's  name  to  me  again  !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  hate  him  !     I  hate  him  !    And  don't  bring  me 
any  more  tales  about  what  people  are  saying.     I 
don't  care    what    they    say  !     I  scorn  them  all ! 
What  are  they  but  a  set  of  jibbering  automatons  ? 
One  year  has  made  me  loathe  the  bloodless,  pulse- 
less,  colorless,   artificial    thing    you    call    society. 
Those    people    whose    names    and    position   each 
bows  down  to  in  the  other  are  not  human  beings  ! 
they  are  but  a  handful  of  fungi  on  the  great  plant 
of  humanity  !     If  they  were  wrenched  from  their 
roots  and  crushed  out  of  life  to-morrow,  their  poor, 
little,  miserable,  self-satisfied  numbers  would  not 
be  missed.     Of  what  value  are  they  in  the  scheme 
of  existence  save  to  fatten  and  puff  in  the  shade 
of  a  real  world  like  the  mushroom   and  the  toad- 
stool under  an  oak  ?     They  are  not  alive  like  the 
great   world  of  real  men  ;  not  one  of  them  ever 
had  a  strong,  real,  healthy,  animal  impulse  in  his 
life.     Even  their  little  sins  are  artificial,  and  owe 
their   faint,    evanescent   promptings  to   vanity  or 
ennui.     I  hate  their  wretched  little  aims  and  ambi- 
tions,  their  well-bred    scuffling  for  power  in  the 
eyes  of  each  other— /^w/^r — Heaven  save  the  mark! 
They  work  as  hard,  those  poor  midgets,  for  recogni- 
tion among  the  few  hundred  people  who  have  ever 
heard  of  them,  as  a  statesman  does  for  the  admira- 
tion of  his  country  !     And  yet  if  the  whole  tribe 
were  melted  down  into   one  soul  they  would  not 


176  Hermia  Suydam. 

make  an  ambition  big  enough  to  carry  its  result 
to  the  next  generation.  A  year  and  I  shall  have 
forgotten  every  name  on  my  visiting-list.  Great 
God  !  that  you  should  think  I  care  for  them." 

Mrs.  Dykman  rose  to  her  feet  and  drew  her  furs 
about  her.  "  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand 
you,"  she  said.  ''  Fortunately  for  myself,  my  lot 
has  been  cast  among  ordinary  women.  And  as  I 
am  a  part  of  the  world  for  which  you  have  so 
magnificent  a  contempt,  one  of  the  midgets  for 
whom  you  have  so  fine  a  scorn,  I  imagine  you  will 
care  to  see  as  little  of  me  in  the  future  as  I  of  you." 

She  was  walking  majestically  down  the  room 
when  Hermia  sprang  forward,  and,  throwing  her 
arms  about  her,  burst  into  a  storm  of  tears.  "  Oh, 
don't  be  angry  with  m^ !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't ! 
Don't  !  I  am  so  miserable  that  I  don't  know 
what  I  am  saying.     I  believe  I  am  half  crazy." 

Mrs.  Dykman  drew  her  down  on  a  sofa. 
"  What  is  the  trouble  ?  "  she  asked.     "  Tell  me." 

"There  is  nothing  in  particular,"  said  Hermia. 
"  I  am  just  unstrung.  I  feel  like  a  raft  in  the 
middle  of  an  ocean.  I  am  disgusted  with  life.  It 
must  be  because  I  am  not  well.  I  am  sure  that  is 
it.  There  is  nothing  else.  Oh,  Aunt  Frances, 
take  me  to  Europe." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Dykman  ;  "we  will  go 
if  you  think  that  traveling  will  cure  you.  But  I 
cannot  go  for  at  least  five  weeks.    Will  that  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hermia;  "  I  suppose  it  will  have  to." 


Hennia  Suydam.  177 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

FUTURITY. 

A  FEW  days  later  Hennia  had  a  singular  ex- 
perience. Bessie's  youngest  child,  her  only  boy, 
died.  Hermia  carried  her  sister  from  the  room 
as  the  boy  breathed  his  last,  and  laid  her  on  a  bed. 
As  Bessie  lay  sobbing  and  moaning,  sometimes 
wailing  aloud,  she  seemed  suddenly  to  fade  from 
her  sister's  vision.  Hermia  was  alone,  where  she 
could  not  tell,  in  a  room  whose  lineaments  were 
too  shadowy  to  define.  Even  her  ov/n  outlines, 
seen  as  in  a  mirror  held  above,  were  blurred.  Of 
one  thing  only  was  she  sharply  conscious  :  she 
was  writhing  in  mortal  agony — agony  not  of  the 
body,  but  of  the  spirit.  The  cause  she  did  not 
grasp,  but  the  effect  was  a  suffering  as  exquisite 
and  as  torturing  as  that  of  vitriol  poured  upon 
bare  nerves.  The  insight  lasted  only  a  few 
seconds,  but  it  was  so  real  that  she  almost  screamed 
aloud.  Then  she  drifted  back  to  the  present  and 
bent  over  her  sister.  But  her  face  was  white. 
In  that  brief  interval  her  inner  vision  had  pierced 
the  depths  of  her  nature,  and  what  it  saw  there 
made  her  shudder. 
12 


1 78  Hermia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

CHAOS. 

She  began  to  hate  Cryder  with  a  mortal  hatred. 
^^^len  he  left  her  he  had  flown  down  the  perspect- 
ive of  her  past,  but  now  he  seemed  to  be  crawling 
back — nearer — nearer — 

Had  it  not  been  for  him  she  might  have  loved 
Quintard.  But  he  had  scraped  the  gloss  from 
life.  He  had  made  love  commonplace,  vulgar. 
She  felt  a  sort  of  moral  nausea  whenever  she 
thought  of  love.  What  an  ideal  would  love  have 
been  with  Quintard  in  this  house  !  There  was 
a  barbaric,  almost  savage  element  in  his  nature 
which  made  him  seem  a  part  of  these  rooms  and 
of  that  Indian  wilderness. 

And  every  nook  and  corner  was  eloquent  of 
Cryder  !  Sometimes  she  thought  she  would  take 
another  house.  But  she  asked  herself  :  Of  what 
use  ?  She  had  nothing  left  to  give  Quintard,  and 
her  house  was  his  delight.  She  no  longer  pre- 
tended to  analyze  herself  or  to  speculate  on  the 
future.  Once,  when  sitting  alone  by  Bessie's  bed 
in  the  night,  she  had  opened  the  door  of  her 
mental  photograph  gallery  and  glanced  down  the 


Hermia  Suydam,  179 

room  to  that  great,  bare  plate  at  the  end.  It  was 
bare  no  longer.  On  its  surface  was  an  impression 
— what,  she  did  not  pause  to  ascertain.  She  shut 
the  door  hurriedly  and  turned  the  key. 

At  times  all  the  evil  in  her  nature  was  domi- 
nant. She  dreaded  hearing  Quintard  speak  the 
word  which  would  thrust  her  face  to  face  with 
her  future  ;  but  the  temptation  was  strong  to  see 
the  lightning  flash  in  his  eyes,  to  shake  his  silence 
as  a  rock  shakes  above  the  quivering  earth.  And 
Quintard  kept  his  control  because  he  saw  that  she 
was  trying  to  tempt  him,  and  he  determined  that 
he  would  not  yield  an  inch  until  he  was  ready. 
*  %  4:  *  *  * 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  go  away  from  all 
memory  of  Cryder  and  live  on  some  Mediterranean 
island  with  Quintard.  She  was  not  fit  to  be  any 
man's  wife,  and  life  could  never  be  what  it  might 
have  been  ;  but  at  least  she  would  have  him,  and 
she  could  not  live  without  him.  There  were 
softer  moments,  when  she  felt  poignant  regret  for 
the  mistake  of  her  past,  when  she  had  brief,  fleet- 
ing longings  for  a  higher  life  of  duty,  and  of  a  love 
that  was  something  more  than  intellectual  com- 
panionship and  possession. 

Quintard's  book  came  out  and  aroused  a  hot 
dispute.  He  was  accused  of  coarseness  and  im- 
morality on  the  one  side,  and  granted  originality 
and  vigor  on  the  other.  The  ultra-conservative 
faction  refused  him  a  place  in  American  literature. 


i8o  Hermia  Suydam, 

The  radical  and  advanced  wing  said  that  Ameri- 
can literature  had  some  blood  in  its  veins  at  last. 
Hermia  took  all  the  papers,  and  a  day  seldom 
passed  that  Quintard's  name,  either  in  execration 
or  commendation,  did  not  meet  her  eyes.  The 
derogatory  articles  cut  her  to  the  quick  or  aroused 
her  to  fury  ;  and  the  adulation  he  received  de- 
lighted her  as  keenly  as  if  offered  to  herself. 

He  was  with  her  in  his  periods  of  elation  and 
depression,  and  it  was  at  such  times  that  the  bet- 
ter part  of  her  nature  was  stirred.  He  needed 
her.  She  could  give  him  that  help  and  comfort 
and  sympathy  without  which  his  life  would  be 
barren.  She  knew  that  under  the  hard,  outer 
crust  of  her  nature  lay  the  stunted  germs  of  self- 
abnegation  and  sacrifice,  and  there  were  moments 
when  she  longed  with  all  the  ardor  of  her  quick- 
ening soul  to  give  her  life  to  this  man's  happiness 
and  good.  Then  the  mood  would  pass,  and  she 
would  look  back  upon  it  with  impatience. 


Hermia  Suydam.  i8i 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

LIFE    FROM    DEATH. 

Hermia  was  in  bed  one  morning  when  her 
maid  brought  her  the  papers.  She  opened  one, 
then  sat  suddenly  erect,  and  the  paper  shook  in 
her  hands.  She  read  the  headlines  through  twice 
—details  were  needless.  Then  she  dropped  the 
paper  and  fell  back  on  the  pillows.  A  train  had 
gone  over  an  embankment  in  the  South,  and 
Ogden  Cryder's  name  was  in  the  list  of  dead. 

She  lay  staring  at  the  painted  canopy  of  her 
bed.  It  seemed  to  her  that  with  Cryder's  life  her 
past  was  annihilated,  that  the  man  took  with  him 
every  act  and  deed  of  which  she  had  been  a  part. 
A  curtain  seemed  to  roll  down  just  behind  her. 
A  drama  had  been  enacted,  but  it  was  over. 
What  had  it  been  about?  She  had  forgotten. 
She  could  recall  nothing.  That  curtain  shut  out 
every  memory. 

She  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  She  was 
free  !  She  could  take  up  her  life  from  this  hour 
and  forget  that  any  man  had  entered  it  but  Gret- 
tan  Quintard.  Cryder  ?  Who  was  he  ?  Had  he 
ever  lived  ?     What  did  he  look  like  ?     She  could 


1 82  Hermia  Suydam. 

not  remember.     She  could  recall  but  one  face — a 
face  which  should  never  be  seen  in  this  room. 

Though  her  mood  was  not  a  hard  one,  she  felt 
no  pity  for  Cryder.  Love  had  made  every  object 
in  life  insignificant  but  herself  and  her  lover. 

She  would  marry  Quintard.  She  would  be  all 
that  in  her  better  moments  she  had  dreamed  of 
being — that  and  more.  She  had  great  capacity 
for  good  in  her  ;  her  respect  and  admiration  for 
Quintard's  higher  qualities  had  taught  her  that. 
She  threw  up  her  arms  and  struck  her  open  palms 
against  the  bed's  head.  And  how  she  loved  him  ! 
What  exultation  in  the  thought  of  her  power  to 
give  him  happiness  ! 

For  a  few  days  Quintard  felt  as  if  he  were 
walking  on  the  edge  of  a  crater.  The  hardness 
in  her  nature  seemed  to  have  melted  and  gone. 
The  defiant,  almost  cynical  look  had  left  her 
eyes  ;  they  were  dreamy,  almost  appealing.  She 
made  no  further  effort  to  tempt  him,  but  he  had 
a  weird  feeling  that  if  he  touched  her  he  would 
receive  an  electric  shock.  He  did  not  suspect 
the  cause  of  the  sudden  change,  nor  did  he  care 
to  know.     It  was  enough  that  it  was. 


Hermia  Suydatn.  183 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


IDEALS    RESTORED. 


They  were  sitting  together  one  evening  in  the 
jungle.  The  night  was  hot  and  the  windows  were 
open,  but  the  curtains  were  drawn.  The  lamps 
were  hidden  behind  the  palms,  and  the  room  was 
full  of  mellow  light.  Hermia  sat  on  a  bank  of 
soft,  green  cushions,  and  Quintard  lay  beside  her. 
Hermia  wore  a  loose  gown  of  pale-green  mull, 
that  fell  straight  from  her  bosom's  immovable 
swell,  and  her  neck  and  arms  were  bare.  She 
had  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knee  and  was 
leaning  slightly  forward.  Beside  her  was  a  heavy 
mass  of  foliage,  and  against  it  shone  her  hair  and 
the  polished  whiteness  of  her  skin. 

''  Now  that  you  are  famous,  and  your  book  has 
been  discussed  threadbare,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  next  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  I  want  to  write  some  romances  about  the 
princely  houses  of  India — of  that  period  which 
immediately  antedates  the  invasion  of  the  East 
India  Company.  I  spent  a  year  in  northern  and 
western  India,  and  collected  a  quantity  of  mate- 
rial.    We  know  little  of  the  picturesque  side  of 


184  Hermia  Suydam. 

India  outside  of  Macaulay,  Crawford,  and  Edwin 
Arnold,  and  it  is  immensely  fertile  in  romance  and 
anecdote.  There  never  were  such  love-affairs, 
such  daring  intrigues,  such  tragedies !  And  the 
setting  !  It  would  take  twenty  vocabularies  to  do 
it  justice  ;  but  it  is  gratifying  to  find  a  setting 
upon  which  one  vocabulary  has  not  been  twenty 
times  exhausted.  And  then  I  have  half  promised 
Mrs.  Trennor-Secor  to  dramatize  Rossetti's  '  Rose 
Mary'  for  her.  She  wants  to  use  it  at  Newport 
this  summer,  or  rather,  she  wanted  something,  and 
I  suggested  that.  I  have  always  intended  to  do 
it.  But  I  feel  little  in  the  humor  for  writing  at 
present,  to  tell  you  the  truth." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  Hermia  clasped  her 
hands  more  tightly  about  her  knee.  "What  are 
your  plans  for  '  Rose  Mary  '  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I 
hope  you  will  have  five  or  six  voices  sing  the 
Beryl  songs  behind  the  altar.  The  effect  would 
be  weird  and  most  impressive." 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,"  said  Quintard.  "  How 
many  ideas  you  have  given  me  !  " 

"Tell  me  your  general  plan,"  she  said  quickly. 

He  sketched  it  to  her,  and  she  questioned  him 
at  length,  nervously  keeping  him  on  the  subject 
as  long  as  she  could.  The  atmosphere  seemed 
charged  ;  they  would  never  get  through  this  even- 
ing in  safety  !  If  he  retained  his  self-control,  she 
felt  that  she  should  lose  hers. 

She  pressed  her  face  down   against  her  knee, 


Her7nia  Sicydarn.  185 

and  his  words  began  to  reach  her  consciousness 
with  the  indistinctness  of  words  that  come  through 
ears  that  are  the  outposts  of  a  dreaming  brain. 
When  he  finished  he  sat  suddenly  upright,  and 
for  a  few  moments  uttered  no  word.  He  sat 
close  beside  her,  almost  touching  her,  and  Hermia 
felt  as  if  her  veins'  rivers  had  emptied  their  cata- 
racts into  her  ears.  Her  nerves  were  humming  in 
a  vast  choir.  She  made  a  rigid  attempt  at  self- 
control,  and  the  effort  made  her  tremble.  Quin- 
tard  threw  himself  forward,  and  putting  his  hand 
to  her  throat  forced  back  her  head.  Her  face 
was  white,  but  her  lips  were  burning.  Quintard 
pressed  his  mouth  to  hers — and  Hermia  took  her 
ideals  to  her  heart  once  more. 

Time  passed  and  the  present  returned  to  them. 
He  spoke  his  first  word.  "We  will  be  married 
before  the  week  is  out.     Promise." 

He  left  her  suddenly,  and  Hermia  sank  back 
and  down  amidst  the  cushions.  Once  or  twice 
she  moved  impatiently.  Why  was  he  not  with 
her  ?  The  languor  in  her  veins  grew  heavier  and 
wrapped  her  about  as  in  a  covering.     She  slept. 


1 86  Her  mill  Suxdam. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

AN    AWAKENING. 

When  Hermia  awoke  there  was  a  rattle  of 
wagons  in  the  street,  and  the  dawn  struggled 
through  the  curtains.  There  was  a  chill  in  the 
air  and  she  shivered  a  little.  She  lay  recalling  the 
events  of  the  night.  Suddenly  she  sat  upright  and 
cast  about  her  a  furtive  glance  of  horror.  Then 
she  sat  still  and  her  teeth  chattered. 

Cryder's  face  looked  at  her  from  behind  every 
palm  !  It  grinned  mockingly  down  from  every 
tree  !  It  sprang  from  the  o^ishions  and  pressed 
itself  close  to  her  cheek  !  The  room  was  peopled 
with  Cryder  ! 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  her  arms 
above  her  head.  '*  O  God  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  it  was 
but  for  a  night !  for  a  night  !  "' 

She  fled  down  the  room,  Cryder,  in  augmenting 
swarm,  pursuing  her.  She  flew  up  the  stairs  and 
into  her  room,  and  there  fiung  herself  on  the  floor 
in  such  mortal  agony  as  she  could  never  know 
again,  because  the  senses  must  be  blunted  ever 
after.  Last  night,  in  Quintard's  arms,  as  heaven's 
lightning  flashed  through  lier  heart,  every  avenue 


Hermia  Suydam.  187 

in  it  had  been  rent  wide.  The  great  mystery  of 
life  had  poured  through,  flooding  them  with  light, 
throwing  into  cloudless  relief  the  glorious  heights 
and  the  muttering  depths.  Last  night  she  had 
dwelt  on  the  heights,  and  in  that  starry  ether  had 
given  no  glance  to  the  yawning  pits  below.  But 
sleep  had  come  ;  she  had  slid  gently,  unwittingly 
down  ;  she  had  awakened  to  find  herself  writhing 
on  the  sharp,  jutting  rocks  of  a  rayless  cavern,  on 
whose  roof  of  sunset  gold  she  had  rambled  for 
days  and  weeks  with  a  security  which  had  in  it 
the  blindness  of  infatuation. 

She  marry  Quintard  and  live  with  him  as  the 
woman  he  loved  and  honored  above  all  women  ! 
She  try  to  scale  those  heights  where  was  to  be 
garnered  something  better  worth  offering  her  lover 
than  any  stores  in  her  own  sterile  soul  !  That 
hideous,  ineffaceable  brand  seemed  scorching  her 
breast  with  letters  of  fire.  If  she  had  but  half 
loved  Cryder — but  she  had  not  loved  him  for  a 
moment.  With  her  right  hand  she  had  cast  the 
veil  over  her  eyes  ;  with  her  left,  she  had  fought 
away  all  promptings  thai  would  have  rent  the  veil 
in  twain.  Every  moment,  from  beginning  to 
awakening,  she  had  shut  her  ears  to  the  voice 
which  would  have  whispered  that  her  love  was  a 
deliberate  delusion,  created  and  developed  by  her 
will.  No  !  she  had  no  excuse.  She  was  a  woman 
of  brains  ;  there  was  no  truth  she  might  not  have 
grasped  had  she  chosen  to  turn  her  eyes  and  face  it. 


1 88  Hcrmia  Suydatn. 

She  flung  her  arms  over  her  head,  grasping  the 
fringes  of  the  rug,  and  twisting  them  into  a  shape- 
less mass.  She  moaned  aloud  in  quick,  short, 
unconscious  throbs  of  sound.  She  was  five-and- 
twenty,  and  life  was  over.  She  had  wandered 
through  long  years  in  a  wilderness  as  desolate  as 
night,  and  she  had  reached  the  gates  of  the  city 
to  find  them  shut.  They  had  opened  for  a 
moment  and  she  had  stood  within  them  ;  then  a 
hand  had  flung  her  backward,  and  the  great, 
golden  portals  had  rushed  together  with  an  impe- 
tus which  welded  them  for  all  time.  She  made 
no  excuses  for  herself  ;  she  hurled  no  anathemas 
against  fate.  Her  intellect  had  been  given  to  her 
to  save  her  from  the  mistakes  of  foolish  humanity, 
a  lamp  to  keep  her  out  of  the  mud.  She  had 
shaded  the  lamp  and  gone  down  into  the  mire. 
She  had  known  by  experience  and  by  thought 
that  no  act  of  man's  life  passed  without  a  scar  ; 
that  the  scars  knit  together  and  formed  the  sepa- 
rate, indestructible  constituent  fibers  of  his  char- 
acter. And  each  fiber  influenced  eternally  the 
structure  as  a  whole.  She  had  known  this,  and 
yet,  without  a  glance  into  the  future,  without  a 
stray  thought  tossed  to  issues,  she  had  burnt  her- 
self as  indifferently  as  a  woman  who  has  nothing 
to  lose.  It  was  true  that  great  atonement  was  in 
her  power,  that  in  a  life's  reach  of  love  and  duty 
the  scar  would  fade.  But  that  was  not  in  the 
question.     With  such  tragic  natures   there   is  no 


Hermia  Suydam.  189 

medium.  She  could  not  see  a  year  in  the  future 
that  would  not  be  haunted  with  memories  and 
regrets  ;  an  hour  when  that  scar  would  not  burn. 

If  life  could  not  be  perfect,  she  would  have 
nothing  less.  She  had  dealt  her  cards,  she  would 
accept  the  result.  She  had  had  it  in  her  to  enjoy 
a  happiness  possible  only  to  women  of  her  intel- 
lect and  temperament.  She  had  deliberately  put 
happiness  out  of  her  life,  and  there  could  be  but 
one  end  to  the  matter. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  had  no  tears,  but 
it  seemed  as  if  something  had  its  teeth  at  her 
vitals  and  was  tearing  them  as  a  tiger  tears  its 
victim.  She  walked  aimlessly  up  and  down  the 
room  until  exhausted,  then  went  mechanically 
to  bed. 


190  Hermia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    DOCTRINE    OF    THE    INEVITABLE. 

Late  in  the  clay  her  maid  awoke  her  and  said 
that  Mrs.  Dykman  was  down-stairs. 

Hermia  hesitated  ;  then  she  bade  the  girl  bring 
the  visitor  up  to  her  boudoir.  It  was  as  well  for 
several  reasons  that  Mrs.  Dykman  should  know. 

She  thrust  her  feet  into  a  pair  of  night-slippers, 
drew  a  dressing-gown  about  her,  and  went  into 
the  next  room.  Mrs.  Dykman,  as  she  entered  a 
moment  later,  raised  her  level  brows. 

"  Hermia  !  "  she  said,  "  what  is  the  matter?  " 

Hermia  glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror.  She 
shuddered  a  little  at  her  reflection.  "  Several 
things,"  she  said,  briefly.     "  Sit  down." 

Mrs.  Dykman,  with  an  extremely  uncomfortable 
sensation,  took  a  chair.  On  the  occasion  of  her  first 
long  conversation  with  Hermia  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  her  new-found  relative  would  one  day 
electrify  the  world  by  some  act  which  her  family 
would  strive  to  forget.  How  she  wished  Hermia 
had  been  cast  in  that  world's  conventional  mold  ! 
It  had  come  !  She  was  convinced  of  that,  as  she 
looked  at  Hermia's  face.     What  had  she  done  ? 


Hermia  Suydam.  191 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Hermia; 
and  then  she  stopped. 

"Well?" 

Mrs.  Dykman  uttered  only  one  word  ;  but  be- 
fore that  calm,  impassive  expectancy  there  was  no 
retreat.  She  looked  as  immovable,  yet  as  com- 
pelling, as  a  sphinx. 

Hermia  told  her  story  to  the  end.  At  so  low 
an  ebb  was  her  vitality  that  not  a  throb  of  excite- 
ment was  in  her  voice. 

When  she  had  finished,  Mrs.  Dykman  drew  a 
breath  of  relief.  It  was  all  very  terrible,  of 
course,  but  she  had  felt  an  indefinable  dread  of 
something  worse.  She  knew  with  whom  she  had 
to  deal,  however,  and  decided  upon  her  line  of 
argument  without  the  loss  of  a  moment.  For 
Hermia  to  allow  any  barrier  to  stand  between  her- 
self and  Quintard  was  ridiculous. 

"  It  is  a  very  unfortunate  thing,"  she  said,  in  a 
tone  intended  to  impress  Hermia  with  its  lack  of 
horror  ;  "  but  has  it  occurred  to  you  that  it  could 
not  be  helped  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  that  for  more  years  than 
you  can  count  you  nursed  and  trained  and  hugged 
the  idea  of  an  adventurous  love-affair  ?  The  mo- 
ment you  got  the  necessary  conditions  you  thought 
of  nothing  but  of  realizing  your  dream.  To  have 
changed  your  ideas  would  have  involved  the 
changing  of  your  whole  nature.     The  act  was  as 


192  Her7}iia  Suydajn. 

inevitable  as  any  minor  act  in  life  which  is  the 
direct  result  of  the  act  which  preceded  it.  You 
could  no  more  have  helped  having  an  intrigue 
than  you  could  help  having  typhoid  fever  if  your 
system  were  in  the  necessary  condition.  I  think 
that  is  a  logical  statement  of  the  matter." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,"  said  Hermia  indifferently  ; 
"  but  Avhy  was  I  so  blind  as  to  mistake  the  wrong 
man  for  the  right  ?  " 

"  The  men  of  your  imagination  were  so  far 
above  reality  that  all  men  you  met  were  a  dis- 
appointment. Cryder  was  the  first  who  had  any 
of  the  qualities  you  demanded.  And  there  was 
much  about  Cryder  to  please  ;  he  was  one  of  the 
most  charming  men  I  ever  met.  You  found  it  de- 
lightful to  be  with  a  man  who,  you  thought,  under- 
stood you,  and  whose  mind  was  equal  to  your  own. 
You  were  lonely,  too — you  wanted  a  companion. 
If  Quintard  had  come  first,  there  would  have  been 
no  question  of  mistake  ;  but,  as  the  case  stands,  it 
was  perfectly  natural  for  you  to  imagine  yourself 
in  love  with  Cryder." 

Hermia  turned  her  head  listlessly  against  the 
back  of  the  chair  and  stared  at  the  wall.  It  was 
all  true  ;  but  what  difference  did  it  make  ? 

Mrs.  Dykman  went  on  :  "  Moreover — although 
it  is  difficult  for  you  to  accept  such  a  truth  in 
your  present  frame  of  mind — the  affair  did  you 
good,  and  your  chances  of  happiness  are  greater 
than  if  you  took  into  matrimony  neither  experi- 


Hermia  Suydam.  193 

ence  nor  the  memory  of  mistakes.  If  you  had 
met  Quintard  first  and  married  him,  you  would 
have  carried  with  you  through  life  the  regret  that 
you  had  never  realized  your  wayward  dreams. 
You  would  have  continued  to  invest  an  intrigue 
with  all  the  romance  of  your  imagination  ;  now 
you  know  exactly  how  little  there  is  in  it.  What 
is  more,  you  have  learned  something  of  the  differ- 
ence in  men,  and  will  be  able  to  appreciate  a  man 
like  Quintard,  You  will  realize  how  few  men 
there  are  in  the  world  who  satisfy  all  the  wants  of 
a  woman's  nature.  There  is  no  effect  in  a  pic- 
ture without  both  light  and  shade.  The  life  you 
will  have  with  Quintard  will  be  the  more  com- 
plete and  beautiful  by  its  contrast  to  the  empti- 
ness and  baldness  of  your  attempt  with  Cryder." 

Hermia  placed  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  face.  "You  are 
appealing  to  my  intellect,"  she  said  ;  "  and  what 
you  say  is  very  clever,  and  worthy  of  you.  But,  if 
I  had  met  Quintard  in  time,  he  would  have  dis- 
pelled all  my  false  illusions  and  made  me  more 
than  content  with  what  he  offered  in  return.  No, 
I  have  made  a  horrible  mistake,  and  no  logic  will 
help  me." 

"But  look  at  another  side  of  the  question. 
You  have  given  yourself  to  one  man  ;  Heaven 
knows  how  many  love  affairs  Grettan  Quintard 
has  had.  You  know  this  ;  you  heard  him  ac- 
knowledge it  in  so  many  words.  And  yet  you 
13 


194  Hermia  Suydam. 

find  no  fault  with  him.  Why,  then,  is  your  one 
indiscretion  so  much  greater  than  his  many  ? 
Your  life  until  you  met  Quintard  was  your  own  to 
do  with  as  it  pleased  you.  If  you  chose  to  take 
the  same  privilege  that  the  social  code  allows  to 
men,  the  relative  sin  is  very  small  ;  about  positive 
right  and  wrong  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  any- 
thing. With  the  uneven  standard  of  morality  set 
up  by  the  world  and  by  religion,  who  does  ?  But 
relatively  you  are  so  much  less  guilty  than  Quin- 
tard that  the  matter  is  hardly  worth  discussing. 
And,  if  he  never  discovers  that  you  give  him  less 
than  he  believes,  it  will  not  hurt  him.  When  you 
are  older,  you  will  have  a  less  tender  regard  for 
men  than  you  have  to-day." 

Hermia  leaned  back  and  sighed  heavily.  ''  Oh, 
it  is  not  the  abstract  sin,"  she  said.  "  It  is  that 
it  was^  and  that  now  I  love." 

"  Hermia,"  said  Mrs.  Dykman,  sternly,  "  this  is 
unworthy  of  a  woman  of  your  brains  and  charac- 
ter. You  have  the  strongest  will  of  any  woman  I 
have  ever  known  ;  take  your  past  by  the  throat 
and  put  it  behind  you.  Stifle  it  and  forget  it. 
You  have  the  power,  and  you  must  surely  have 
the  desire." 

"  No,"  said  Hermia,  "  I  have  neither  the  power 
nor  the  desire.  That  is  the  one  thing  in  my  life 
beyond  the  control  of  my  will." 

*'  Then  there  is  but  one  thing  that  will  bring 
back  your  normal    frame   of   mind,  and  that   is 


Hermia  Suvdam. 


195 


change.  I  will  give  you  a  summer  in  London 
and  a  winter  in  Paris.  I  promise  that  at  the  end 
of  that  time  you  will  marry  Quintard." 

''Well,"  said  Hermia,  listlessly,  "I  will  think  of 
it."  She  was  beginning  to  wish  her  aunt  would 
go.  She  had  made  her  more  disgusted  with  life 
than  ever. 

Mrs.  Dykman  divined  that  it  was  time  to  leave 
the  girl  alone,  and  rose.  She  hesitated  a  moment 
and  then  placed  her  hand  on  Hermia's  shoulder. 
"  I  have  had  every  experience  that  life  offers  to 
women,"  she  said — and  for  the  first  time  in 
Hermia's  knowledge  of  her  those  even  tones  deep- 
ened— "  every  tragedy,  every  comedy,  every  bit- 
terness, every  joy — everything.  Therefore,  my 
advice  has  its  worth.  There  is  little  in  life — ^make 
the  most  of  that  little  when  you  find  it.  You  are 
facing  a  problem  that  more  than  one  woman  has 
faced  before,  and  you  will  work  it  out  as  other 
women  have  done.  It  was  never  intended  that  a 
Hfe-time  of  suffering  should  be  the  result  of  one 
mistake."  Then  she  gathered  her  wraps  about 
her  and  left  the  room. 

Shortly  after,  Hermia  drove  down  to  her  law- 
yer's office  and  made  a  will.  She  left  bequests  to 
Helen  Simms  and  Miss  Newton,  and  divided  the 
bulk  of  her  property  between  Bessie,  Miss  Star- 
bruck,  and  Mrs.  Dykman. 


196  Hertnia  Suydam. 


CHAPTER    XXXVllI. 

BETWEEN    DAY    AND    NIGHT. 

Hermia  sat  by  the  window  waiting  for  Quin- 
tard.  It  was  the  saddest  hour  of  the  day — that 
hour  of  dusk  when  the  lamplighter  trudges  on  his 
rounds.  How  many  women  have  sat  in  their 
darkening  rooms  at  that  hour  with  their  brows 
against  the  glass  and  watched  their  memories  rise 
and  sing  a  dirge  !  Even  a  child — if  it  be  a  woman- 
child — is  oppressed  in  that  shadow-haunted  land 
between  day  and  night,  for  the  sadness  of  the 
future  is  on  her.  j^Ij^  is  the  hour  when  souls  in 
their  strain  feel  that  the  tension  must  snap ; 
when  tortured  hearts  send  their  cries  through  for- 
bidding brains.  The  sun  has  gone,  the  lamps  are 
unlit,  the  shadows  lord  and  mock  until  they  are 
blotted  out  under  falling  tears. 

Hermia  rose  suddenly  and  left  the  room.  She 
went  into  the  dining-room  and  drank  a  glass  of 
sherry.  She  wore  a  black  gown,  and  her  face  was 
as  wan  as  the  white-faced  sky  ;  but  in  a  moment 
the  wine  brought  color  to  her  lips  and  cheeks. 
Then  she  went  into  the  jungle  and  lit  the  lamps. 

She  was  standing  by  one  of  the  date-trees  as 
Quintard  entered.     As  he  came  up  to  her  he  took 


Hermia  Suydam.  197 

her  hand  in  both  his  own,  but  he  did  not  kiss  her  ; 
he  almost  dreaded  a  renewal  of  last  night's  excite- 
ment. Hermia,  moreover,  was  a  woman  whose 
moods  must  be  respected  ;  she  did  not  look  as  if 
she  were  ready  to  be  kissed. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  tenderness  in 
his  voice  which  made  her  set  her  teeth.  ''  Your 
eyes  are  hollow.  I  am  afraid  you  did  not  sleep. 
I  " — the  dark  color  coming  under  his  skin — "  did 
not  sleep  either." 

"  I  slept,"  said  Hermia — ''  a  little  ;  but  I  have 
a  headache." 

They  went  to  the  end  of  the  room  and  sat 
down,  she  on  the  bank,  he  opposite,  on  a  seat  made 
to  represent  a  hollowed  stump. 

They  talked  of  many  things,  as  lovers  do  in 
those  intervals  between  the  end  of  one  whirl- 
wind and  the  half-feared,  half-longed-for  begin- 
ning of  another.  He  told  her  that  the  Poet's 
Club,  after  a  mighty  battle  which  had  threatened 
disruption,  had  formally  elected  him  a  member. 
Word  had  been  sent  to  his  rooms  late  in  the  after- 
noon. Then  he  told  her  that  they  were  to  be  mar- 
ried on  Thursday,  and  to  sail  for  Europe  in  the 
early  morning  on  his  yacht.  He  spoke  of  the 
places  they  would  visit,  the  old  cities  he  had 
loved  to  roam  about  alone,  where  idle  talk  would 
have  shattered  the  charm.  And  he  would  take 
her  into  the  heart  of  nature  and  teach  her  to 
forget  that  the  world  of  men  existed.     And  the 


198  Hermia  Suydatn. 

sea — they  both  loved  the  sea  better  than  all.  He 
would  teach  her  how  every  ocean,  every  river, 
every  stream  spoke  a  language  of  its  own,  and 
told  legends  that  put  to  shame  those  of  forest 
and  mountain,  village  and  wilderness.  They 
would  lie  on  the  sands  and  listen  to  the  deep, 
steady  voice  of  the  ocean  telling  the  secrets  she 
carried  in  her  stormy  heart — secrets  that  were 
safe  save  when  some  mortal  tuned  his  ear  to 
her  tongue.  He  threw  back  his  head  and  quoted 
lingeringly  from  the  divinest  words  that  have  ever 
been  written  about  the  sea  : 

"  Mother  of  loves  that  are  swift  to  fade, 
Mother  of  mutable  winds  and  hours, 
A  barren  mother,  a  mother-maid, 

Cold  and  clean  as  her  faint,  salt  flowers. 
I  would  we  twain  were  even  as  she, 
Lost  in  the  night  and  the  light  of  the  sea, 
Where  faint  sounds  falter  and  wan  beams  wade. 
Break  and  are  broken,  and  shed  into  showers. 
******* 

"  O  tender-hearted,  O  perfect  lover, 

Thy  lips  are  bitter,  and  sweet  thine  heart. 

The  hopes  that  hurt  and  the  dreams  that  hover, 
Shall  they  not  vanish  away  and  apart? 

But  thou,  thou  art  sure,  thou  art  older  than  earth  ; 

Thou  art  strong  for  death  and  fruitful  of  birth  ; 

Thy  depths  conceal  and  thy  gulfs  discover  ; 
From  the  first  thou  wert  ;  in  the  end  thou  art." 

Hermia  leaned  forward  and  pressed  her  hands 
into  his.     ''  Come  !  "  she  said. 


Herniia  Suydam.  199 

He  dropped  on  the  cushion  beside  her  and 
caught  her  to  him  in  an  embrace  that  hurt  her  ; 
and  under  his  kiss  the  coming  hour  was  forgotten. 

After  a  time  he  pushed  her  back  among  the 
cushions  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  throat.  Sud- 
denly he  stood  up.  "  I  am  going,"  he  said.  "  We 
will  be  married  at  eight  o'clock  on  Thursday- 
night.     I  shall  not  see  you  until  then." 

She  stood  up  also.  **  Wait  a  moment,"  she 
said,  "  I  want  to  say  something  to  you  before  you 
go."  She  looked  at  him  steadily  and  said  :  "  I 
was  everything  to  Ogden  Cryder." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  Quintard  had  not 
understood.  He  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  ward 
off  a  blow,  and  looked  at  her  almost  inquiringly. 

''What  did  you  say?  "  he  muttered. 

"  I  tried  to  believe  that  I  loved  him,  and  failed. 
There  is  no  excuse.  I  knew  1  did  not.  I  tell 
you  this  because  I  love  you  too  well  to  give  you 
what  you  would  have  spurned  had  you  known  ; 
and  I  tell  you  that  you  may  forget  me  the  sooner." 

Quintard  understood.  He  crossed  the  short 
distance  between  them  and  looked  into  her  face. 

Hermia  gave  a  rapturous  cry.  All  that  was 
brutal  and  savage  in  her  nature  surged  upward  in 
response  to  the  murderous  passion  in  this  man 
who  was  bone  of  herself.  Never  had  she  been  so 
at  one  with  him  ;  never  had  she  so  worshiped 
him  as  in  that  moment  when  she  thought  he  was 
going  to  kill  her.     Then,  like  a  flash,  he  left  her. 


Her  mi  a  Suydam. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

THE    REALIZATION    OK    IDEALS. 

She  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments,  then 
went  up-stairs.  As  she  crossed  the  hall  she  saw- 
that  the  front-door  was  open,  but  she  was  too  list- 
less to  close  it.  She  went  to  her  boudoir  and 
sank  into  a  chair.  In  the  next  room  was  a  bottle 
of  potassium  cyanide  which  she  had  brought  up 
from  the  butler's  pantry.  It  had  been  purchased 
to  scour  John  Suydam's  silver,  which  had  the  rust 
of  generations  on  it.  She  would  get  it  in  a  few 
moments.  She  had  a  fancy  to  review  her  life 
before  she  ended  it.  All  those  years  before  the 
last  two — had  they  ever  really  existed  ?  Had 
there  been  a  time  when  life  had  been  before  her  ? 
when  circumstances  had  not  combined  to  push 
her  steadily  to  her  destruction  ?  No  temptations 
had  come  to  the  plain,  unattractive  girl  in  the 
little  Brooklyn  flat.  Though  every  desire  had 
been  ungratified,  still  her  life  had  been  unspoiled, 
and  she  had  possessed  a  realm  in  which  she  had 
found  perfect  joy.  Was  it  possible  that  she  and 
that  girl  were  the  same  ?  She  was  twenty  years 
older  and  her  life  was  over  ;  that  girl's  had  not 


Hermia  Suydafn.  201 

then  begun.  If  she  could  be  back  in  that  past 
for  a  few  moments  !  If,  for  a  little  time,  she 
could  blot  out  the  present  before  she  went  into 
the  future  !  She  lifted  her  head.  In  a  drawer  of 
her  wardrobe  was  an  old  brown-serge  dress.  She 
had  kept  it  to  look  at  occasionally,  and  with 
it  assure,  and  reassure,  herself  that  the  present 
was  not  a  dream.  She  had  a  fancy  to  look  for 
a  moment  as  she  had  looked  in  those  days  when 
all  things  were  yet  to  be. 

She  went  into  her  bedroom  and  took  out  the 
dress.  It  was  worn  at  the  seams  and  dowdy  of 
cut.  She  put  it  on.  She  dipped  her  hair  into 
a  basin  of  water,  wrung  it  out,  and  twisted  it 
in  a  tight  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head,  leaving 
her  forehead  bare.  Then  she  went  back  to  the 
boudoir  and  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass.  Yes, 
she  was  almost  the  same.  The  gown  did  not 
meet,  but  it  hung  about  her  in  clumsy  folds  ;  the 
water  made  her  hair  lifeless  and  dull  ;  and  her 
skin  was  gray.  Only  her  eyes  were  not  those 
of  a  girl  who  had  never  looked  upon  the  realities 
of  life.  Yes,  she  could  easily  be  ugly  again  ; 
but  with  ugliness  would  not  come  two  years' 
annihilation. 

She  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and,  covering  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  cried  a  little.  To  the  hopes, 
the  ambitions,  the  dreams,  the  longings,  which 
had  been  her  faithful  companions  throughout  her 
life,  she  owed  those  tears.     She  would  shed  none 


2  02  '       Herniia  Suydam. 

for  her  mistakes.  She  dropped  her  hand  and  let 
her  head  fall  back  with  a  little  sigh  of  content. 
At  least  there  was  one  solution  for  all  misery,  and 
nothing  could  take  it  from  her.  Death  was  so- 
easy  to  find  ;  it  dwelt  in  a  little  bottle  in  the 
next  room.  In  an  hour  .she  would  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  memories.  What  mattered  this  little 
hour  of  pain  ?  There  was  an  eternity  of  forget- 
fulness  beyond.  Another  hour,  and  she  would  be 
like  a  bubble  that  had  burst  on  the  surface  of  a 
lake.  Then  an  ugly  thought  flashed  into  her 
brain,  and  she  pressed  her  hands  against  her 
eyes.  Suppose  there  were  a  spiritual  existence 
and  she  should  meet  Cryder  in  it !  Suppose  he 
were  waiting  for  her  at  the  threshold,  and  with 
malignant  glee  should  link  her  to  him  for  all 
eternity  !  His  egoism  would  demand  just  such 
revenge  for  her  failure  to  love  him  ! 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  With  difficulty  she 
kept  from  screaming  aloud.     Was  she  mad  ? 

Then  the  fear  left  her  eyes  and  her  face  re- 
laxed. If  the  soul  were  immortal,  and  if  each 
soul  had  its  mate,  hers  was  Quintard,  and  Cryder 
could  not  claim  her.  She  felt  a  sudden  fierce 
desire  to  meet  Cryder  again  and  pour  out  upon 
him  the  scorn  and  hatred  which  for  the  moment 
forced  love  from  her  heart. 

She  dropped  her  hands  to  her  sides  and  gazed 
at  the  floor  for  a  while,  forgetting  Cryder.  Then 
she  walked  toward  her  bedroom.     As  she  reached 


Hermia  Suydam.  ^03 

the  pillars  she  stopped  and  pressed  her  handker- 
chief to  her  mouth  with  a  shudder  of  distaste. 
Cyanide  of  potassium  was  bitter,  she  had  heard. 
She  had  always  hated  bitter  things — quinine  and 
camphor  and  barks  ;  her  mother  used  to  give  her 
a  horrible  tea  when  she  was  a  child.  *  *  * 
The  taste  seemed  to  come  into  her  mouth  and 
warp  it.     *     *     * 

She  flung  her  handkerchief  to  the  floor  with  an 
impatient  gesture  and  went  into  the  next  room. 

A  moment  later  she  raised  her  head  and  lis- 
tened. Then  she  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath. 
Some  one  was  springing  up  the  stairs. 

She  thrust  her  hands  into  her  hair  and  ruflled 
it  about  her  face  ;  it  was  half  dry,  and  the  gold 
glinted  through  the  damp. 

Quintard  threw  open  the  door  of  the  boudoir 
and  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant.  His  face  was 
white  and  his  lips  were  blue,  but  the  fierceness 
was  gone  from  his  eyes. 

**  You  were  going  to  kill  yourself,"  he  said. 
*' Yes,"  she  replied,  "  I  shall  kill  myself." 
**  I  knew  it !     Sit  down  and  listen  to  me." 
He  pushed  her  on  to  a  divan  and  sat  in  front 
of  her. 

"  I  find  by  my  watch  that  it  is  but  an  hour  since 
I  left  you,"  he  went  on.  "  I  had  thought  the 
world  had  rolled  out  of  its  teens.  For  most  of 
that  hour  I  was  mad.  Then  came  back  that 
terrible   hunger   of   heart  and  soul,  a  moment  of 


204  Hertnia  Suydam. 

awful,  prophetic  solitude.  Let  your  past  go.  I 
cannot  live  without  you." 

Hermia  bent  her  body  until  her  forehead 
touched  her  knees.  "  I  cannot,"  she  said  ;  *'  I 
never  could  forget,  nor  could  you." 

*'  I  would  forget,  and  so  will  you.  I  will  make 
you  forget." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Life — nothing  would 
ever  be  the  same  to  me  ;  nor  to  you — now  that 
I  have  told  you." 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "  You  did  right  to  tell 
me,"  he  said,  ^'  for  your  soul's  peace.  And  I — I 
love  you  the  better  for  what  you  have  suffered. 
And,  my  God  !  think  of  life  without  you  !  Let  it 
go  ;  we  will  make  our  past  out  of  our  future." 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  in  his 
arms,  then  drew  her  across  his  lap  and  laid  her 
head  against  his  shoulder. 

"We  are  the  creatures  of  opportunity,  of  cir- 
cumstance," he  said  ;  "we  must  bow  to  the  Doc- 
trine of  the  Inevitable.  Inexorable  circumstance 
waited  too  long  to  rivet  our  links  ;  that  is  all. 
Circumstance  is  rarely  kind  save  to  the  common- 
place, for  it  is  only  the  commonplace  who  never 
make  mistakes.  But  no  circumstance  shall  stand 
between  us  now.     I  love  you,  and  you  are  mine." 

He  drew  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed 
her  softly  on  her  eyes,  her  face,  her  mouth. 

"You  have  suffered,"  he  whispered,  ''  but  let  it 
be  over  and  forgotten.     Poor  girl  !  how  fate  all 


Hermia  Suydam,  205 

your  life  has  stranded  you  in  the  desert,  and  how 
you  have  beaten  your  wings  against  the  ground 
and  fought  to  get  out.  Come  to  me  and  forget— 
forget — " 

She  tightened  her  arm  about  his  neck  and 
pressed  his  face  against  her  shoulder.  Then  she 
took  the  cork  from  the  phial  hidden  in  her  sleeve. 
With  a  sudden  instinct  Quintard  threw  back  his 
head,  and  the  movement  knocked  the  phial  from 
her  hand.     It  fell  to  the  floor  and  broke. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her  without  speak- 
ing. Under  the  reproach  in  his  eyes  her  lids  fell. 
He  spoke  at  last.  "  Have  you  not  thought  of 
me  once,  Hermia .?  Are  you  so  utterly  absorbed 
in  yourself,  in  your  desire  to  bury  your  misery  in 
oblivion,  that  you  have  not  a  thought  left  for  my 
suffering,  for  my  loneliness,  and  for  my  remorse  .> 
Do  you  suppose  I  could  ever  forget  that  you  killed 
yourself  for  me  ?  You  are  afraid  to  live  ;  you  can 
find  no  courage  to  carry  through  life  the  gnawmg 
at  your  soul.  You  have  pictured  every  horror  of 
such  an  existence.  And  yet,  by  your  own  act, 
you  willingly  abandon  one  whom  you  profess  to 
love,  to  a  life  full  of  the  torments  which  you  so 
terribly  and  elaborately  comprehend." 

Hermia  lay  still  a  moment,  then  slipped  from 
his  arms  and  rose  to  her  feet.  For  a  few  moments 
she  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  room,  then 
stood  before  him.  The  mask  of  her  face  was  the 
same,  but  through  it  a  new  spirit  shone.     It  was 


2o6  Hermia  Suydam. 

the  supreme  moment  of  Hermia's  life.  She  might 
not  again  touch  the  depths  of  her  old  selfishness, 
but  as  surely  would  she  never  a  second  time  brush 
her  wings  against  the  peaks  of  self's  emancipation. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said ;  "  I  had  not  thought 
of  you.  I  have  sulked  in  the  lap  of  my  own  ego- 
ism all  my  life.  That  a  human  soul  might  get 
outside  of  itself  has  never  occurred  to  me — until 
now.  I  will  live  and  rejoice  in  my  own  abnega- 
tion, for  the  sacrifice  will  give  me  something  the 
better  to  offer  you.  I  have  suffered,  and  I  shall 
suffer  as  long  as  I  live — but  I  believe  you  will  be 
the  happier  for  it." 

He  stood  up  and  grasped  her  hands.  "  Her- 
mia !  "  he  exclaimed  beneath  his  breath,  "  Her- 
mia, promise  it  !  Promise  me  that  you  will  live, 
that  you  will  never  kill  yourself.  There  might  be 
wild  moments  of  remorse — promise." 

*'  I  promise,"  she  said. 

"Ah!  you  are  true  to  yourself  at  last."  Sud- 
denly he  shook  from  head  to  foot,  and  leaned 
heavily  against  her. 

She  put  her  arms  about  him.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?  "  she  asked  through  white  lips. 

"  There  is  a  trouble  of  the  heart,"  he  murmured 
unsteadily,  ''  it  is  not  dangerous.  The  tension  has 
been  very  strong  to-night — but — to-morrow" — 
and  then  he  fell  to  the  floor. 

She  was  beside  him  still  when  Miss  Starbruck 
entered    the    room.      The    old    lady's    eyes   were 


Hermia  Suydam.  207 

angry  and  defiant,  and  her  mouth  was  set  in  a 
hard  Hne.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was 
not  afraid  of  Hermia. 

"I  heard  his  voice  some  time  ago,"  she  said, 
hoarsely,  "and  at  first  I  did  not  dare  face  you 
and  come  in.  But  you  are  my  dead  sister's  child, 
and  I  will  do  my  duty  by  you.  You  shall  not 
disgrace  your  mother's  blood — why  is  he  lying 
there  like  that  ?" 

Hermia  rose  and  confronted  her,  and  involun- 
tarily Miss  Starbruck  lowered  her  eyes. 

"  He    is    dead,"   said    Hermia,    *'  and    I 

have  promised  to  live." 


THE    END. 


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